


Irrevocable

by akaparalian



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Saiyan AU, Saiyan Culture, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: Traditionally, the rulers of Vegetasei determine their consorts by way of contest -- a tournament -- so that any who think they are worthy may come forward on the day of the heir's coming of age and present themselves as candidates, and then whichever competitor is left standing at the end is determined to be the strongest, the most worthy of helping to produce the next generation of the ruling house. Of course, it's not really so purely meritocratic as it might seem: through an unwritten, unspoken law, no second- or third-class soldier has entered the tournament in living memory.But Kakarot never did learn how to back down from a challenge.
Relationships: Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! I'm deeply excited to get this train a-rollin'. This was one of the first fic ideas that struck me as I was in the process of descending into Dragon Ball Hell(TM), and I'm VERY happy to start sharing it!
> 
> For now, updates will come every two weeks; once I've got a first draft of the whole thing done, I'll probably bump that up to every week.
> 
> I went ahead and rated this according to the content coming down the line, but don't expect this to get smutty for a little while yet -- you've gotta earn it!
> 
> Also? This is my 100th work on Ao3! I just wanted to note that, because I think it's neat. OK, I'm done -- on with the show!

Of all of the things he could have been spending his afternoon doing, Vegeta finds himself hard-pressed to name anything he found more distasteful than his current situation. In this moment, he honestly thinks that he would rather be shoveling shit on any of the worst backwater dirtballs he's ever been sent to than sitting here in the palace, being told off for not sitting prettily enough. And he'd _certainly_ rather be doing something _actually_ useful, though that ship, he knows, has long since sailed.

"This tradition honors you, boy," the king says, as though he hasn't been repeating the same bland, empty platitudes often enough to be positively nauseating. As though he thinks anyone _cares_. Vegeta certainly doesn’t. "It’s more than you deserve, so I expect you to treat it with an appropriate amount of gravity."

 _And then you can forget all about it once the deed is done_ goes, as ever, unspoken. The reminder is hardly necessary, though; after all, every member of the royal household for as far back as their history is recorded has been a result of, and then later a participant in, this ceremony. That’s the entire _point._ Vegeta himself is no different, nor his father the king, nor his grandfather, and so on. He's had plenty of time to adjust to the idea — he’s been more or less prepared for it since long before the actual preparations had begun.

He’d probably been more prepared as a child who had barely understood what lay before him, in fact, than he was now, or at least his father would probably see it that way. Prince Vegeta's lack of respect for the proceedings is _dishonorable_. His lack of interest is _foolish_ and _weak-minded_. His general disdain for the suitors who had been steadily trickling into the capital for cycles now is _insolent_.

At a certain point, the king had begun to realize that, rather than trying to beat Vegeta's scorn and disinterest out of him, it might be time to bargain with him in order to get him to cooperate with the procedure at all, reassuring him that he could essentially ignore its outcome once it was done. And so, now, here they are.

The arena isn't visible from the palace, but Vegeta finds himself glaring out the window anyway. He can certainly hear the crowd well enough from here, even if he can't see them, and smell smoke and roasted meat and the sharp tang of wine, carried impressively far by the wind. He, of course, won't be allowed to drown out his memory of this whole farce, because he will have to participate in the process, and his pride won't allow him to do so while falling down drunk, no matter how tempting the idea might be.

"I am more than aware of what you require of me, father," Vegeta grits out. He indulges himself, a little, and allows his irritation to twist his face into a scowl, then forcibly pushes the expression back down. "Not to worry. I will sit there and pay attention and even pretend like I'm enjoying myself. I'm not sure you can ask me for more than that."

King Vegeta growls, and his eyes flash dangerously, but he turns away for a moment, and Vegeta counts that as a victory. 

"You would do well to remember that this is as important for the future of our race as any battle you've ever fought," the king growls after a moment, and _that_ makes _Vegeta_ stiffen and spin on his heel to snap back, his fists clenched at his sides. His father's face is foreboding, though, even to him, even as angry as he is, and before he gets a chance to speak, the king continues, "No one discredits you as a warrior, but your people need you as a leader, too. And when you are king one day, you will need children to fight in your name, as you fight in mine."

 _And to bear strong heirs, I will need a strong consort,_ Vegeta thought, the line of reasoning so well-worn by now that the thoughts follow one another automatically in his head, no matter how much he despises them.

He doesn't actually respond to his father out loud, though; much as he hates to admit it, he knows well enough that this is out of his hands now, and has been for quite some time. Oh, he can bitch and moan all he likes — and he certainly intends to — but the actual course of events is certain. He is going to sit up in the stands and oversee the ceremony, and at the end of it he will have his intended, and that’s all there is to it. At least once things are over, he thinks bitterly, he can go back to doing things that actually matter for a while.

They stand there in mutual silence for several long minutes; neither of them is willing to speak first. They might have stood there for an unconscionably long time, in fact, frozen by their mutual stubbornness and unwillingness to concede, if there hadn't been a knock at the door to Vegeta's sitting room.

"Yes?" Vegeta barks, turning away from his father to face the door. His scowl only deepens when his brother steps through.

"I came to see how things were going," Prince Tarble says, glancing between his father and his brother with a look of pure resignation. "And to offer my assistance."

"If you can make your brother see sense, you will have done me a greater service than I can possibly express," the king growls, and just like that he sweeps from the room, leaving his sons alone together with a decisive sweep of his cape. He pauses only briefly in the doorway to add, "You have an hour, or I'll send the guardsmen to fetch you like the child you are," and then he is — finally — gone, shutting the door behind him with a perhaps undue amount of force.

Vegeta and Tarble stand in silence for a long moment after their father has gone, with Tarble staying over by the door and evaluating his brother from across the room, and Vegeta electing to stubbornly ignore him in the hopes that perhaps he will go away, too. 

But Tarble likely wouldn't have survived to adulthood if he were susceptible to tactics as transparent as that, and he watches his brother with something almost like amusement. For as arrogant and aloof and serious as his brother was most of the time, he manages to be absolutely childish sometimes, too, like a cub who pouts because he didn't get his way. Tarble is far too intelligent to say so to his face, of course, but that doesn't mean that he can't indulge in the comparison in private.

"I could always take your place, you know," he offers, just for the sake of poking the sleeping _niarath_ — and, more generally, getting his brother to stop looking out the window as though he will soon be marching to his death.

"What?" Vegeta snaps, jerking around to face him. "What are you on about?"

"Oh, you know, maybe I _want_ the honor of Vegetasei's strongest fighting for the right to stand as my consort," Tarble says mildly, crossing the room at last and watching as his brother's eyes narrow with every step he took. He has to raise his hand to cover a smile, hiding it in a fake cough. "We look similar enough that I bet I'd even get away with it. I doubt anyone would even notice at all, as long as I wore stilts in my boots. And you're not that much taller than me sitting, anyway."

"Fuck off," Vegeta replies immediately. He crosses his arms and does his best to loom threateningly — a tactic he’s usually more than adept at, but which is somewhat reduced in efficacy by the fact that he looks more than a little uncomfortable and out of place in his ornate ceremonial robes. It’s rare enough to see him out of his armor, and very rare indeed to see him dressed up like this, dripping in gold and jewels. Tarble has no doubt that, the rest of the circumstances aside, a remarkably significant portion of his brother's foul mood is probably owed to the loose, flowing robes, heavy golden diadem, and richly embroidered slippers which have replaced his normal combat-ready gear. 

"I really don't know what you're upset about," Tarble says, turning away slightly and taking a few steps to the side, as though he’s genuinely interested in examining the table where his brother's armor is laid out. He does, of course, know _exactly_ what his brother is upset about — it wouldn’t exactly have been hard to piece together even if Vegeta hadn't been shouting at their father about it for months now — and, moreover, he’s sure that Vegeta knows that he knows, but he is also certain that it will still prove an effective enough tactic. Sure enough, his brother growls loudly at him, and, though he does little more than that, Tarble can easily see the tension in his spine.

Just another little push, then. "I would have thought you'd be a bit more excited about watching the finest our race has to offer fight for the honor of being in your presence."

" _I_ am the finest our race has to offer," Vegeta snaps, just as Tarble had expected he would, whirling around with his fists clenched tightly at his sides. 

"A shame you can't fight for the right to be your own consort, then," Tarble muses, and watches a vein in his brother's forehead twitch. This is a very delicate game that he’s playing, but it’s one that he's been practicing since they were both children. Vegeta's temper, of course, is legendary — some of the royal guardsmen have a very poorly-concealed "secret" betting pool on the number of public altercations he’ll get into in a given week, which has made some lucky few very wealthy over the years — but it isn't entirely unpredictable. Apply the right amount of pressure in just the right places, and instead of a truly violent explosion, you’ll instead receive...

"I would if I thought there was any chance it would work," Vegeta grits out, but there is the most telling hint of relaxation in his shoulders; as Tarble watches, carefully concealing his own sense of satisfaction at what he’s seeing, his brother slowly releases the tension that had had him practically shaking only moments before. 

"We'll put that on the list right after swapping out with me, then," Tarble says, and when Vegeta scowls at him, he smiles warmly back. "Just as a back-up plan, you understand."

Vegeta huffs and turns away again, his shoulders hunched up high enough to almost brush his earlobes. The line between needling him enough to get the result one wanted and needling him to the point where he would snap was very fine indeed, and Tarble knows he’s brushing up against it. As casually as though they've been having a pleasant brotherly chat and not a confrontation under the thinnest veneer of propriety, he brushes some imaginary lint from the front of his own garment and, sneaking another glance at Vegeta out of the corner of his eye, turns to leave.

"I'll see you down there, I suppose," he says, and notes with satisfaction the way Vegeta watches him go with evident surprise and suspicion. "Keep my offer in mind — I'm sure we really could switch out, but we'd have to do it soon."

"Piss off," Vegeta mutters, and Tarble smiles to himself as he lets the door swing shut behind him, leaving his brother behind to stew in his own unpleasant mood. He's done his part, after all; making his brother see sense is beyond even him, but he can poke him in the right direction, anyway.

—

There are, of course, a whole squad of royal guardsmen waiting outside Vegeta's door to escort him down to the arena. They're always more ceremonial than anything else — as though any member of the royal line actually needs warriors to protect him; even if they're among the best of the best, they're still not even close to Vegeta's own level, and besides, hiding behind a wall of bodies if he were ever in any real danger would be so sickeningly cowardly that he almost snarls at the mere thought — but they're especially ceremonial today, in their presence, their number, their dress, and their behavior. They take up positions in a perfectly regimented square around him as he glowers and starts making his way out of the palace, their posture perfectly straight and their expressions passive and haughty.

Ridiculous. He's beaten each one of these idiots bloody in the sparring ring; he demands respect, of course, but they normally treat him with the respect one owes to a stronger fellow warrior, not the respect one owes to a fucking ornament on a shelf. Vegeta does his best to ignore them, but then, they're only one small part of the overall problem, and he's having a lot of difficulty ignoring _all_ of it, try as he might.

By the time he reaches the ground floor of the palace, the noise from the arena has picked up noticeably; by the time he's outside, staring down the walk to his final destination, his ears are practically ringing. A muted cheer goes up not long after he gets outside; someone must have seen him, and his appearance, of course, is proof that the festivities are about to kick off for real.

For just a moment, Vegeta casts his eyes skyward, and very seriously considers the idea of blasting straight through the entire fucking crowd. No one would go forward with the events of the day if he took enough of them out, surely.

When he approaches the arena proper and starts to encounter the fringes of the crowd, they part before him with excited murmurs and even cheering, leaving a clear path between him and the steps that lead up to the dais where his father and Tarble are already waiting. Vegeta glares at every single person who cheers at him as he passes, but somehow that just seems to excite them _more_. The guards stop at the bottom of the dais, forming a wall between the crowd and the steps up to the royal family, but Vegeta, of course, can't stay at the bottom with them. 

He glares solidly at his father the entire time he's climbing the steps up to the very top, in part because he's so incredibly pissed off about these stupid, ridiculous, pointless proceedings, and in part because it's as effective a way to tune out the din of the crowd as any. His brother catches his eye as he nears the top, though, and leans in to clap him on the shoulder as he passes.

"At least you're here now," Tarble murmurs, leaning in close enough that King Vegeta won't hear him. "Though my offer still stands. I'm sure we could manage some sleight of hand to get you out of here and me in your place."

If Vegeta's responding scowl is a little lackluster, it's only because he's got much better targets for his frustration at the moment.

The noise reaches a breaking point as he finally reaches the place of honor that's left for him at the top of the dais. They grow even louder when he raises one hand, which is the _opposite_ of what he wants, and he bares his teeth in frustration. It's only when his father steps forward that the crowd actually falls into a bit of a respectful hush, which is just the perfect way to top this whole shitty situation off, in Vegeta's opinion.

King Vegeta's grip on his son's shoulder as they stand side by side facing the crowd is... remarkably firm. 

"This is a momentous occasion," the king begins, his voice raised to a deep, booming roar and amplified by the acoustics of the arena, and Vegeta immediately and completely tunes him out, taking the opportunity to survey his surroundings instead.

The arena is a large, sweeping half-moon shape. The larger, curved side is packed full of lower-class warriors, a raucous throng which is all but spilling over onto the arena floor. On the other side, there is a straight line of less-populated, more distanced seating, and above that, boxes, for the elites and the royal retinue. Front and center is the royal dais, of course, with Vegeta and his brother and his father placed where all can see them, as well as where they can get the best view of the fighting, once it begins. Of course, they also have a fairly good view of the other side of the arena, the second- and third-class warriors and the non-combatants and the rest of the rabble; Vegeta wrinkles his nose slightly and looks away from them, scoffing under his breath.

Below all of the seating is the red dirt of the arena floor, packed down hard by frequent use, dusty and dry. Soon, though, it will be muddy with blood and sweat. 

Vegeta snaps back to attention just as his father ends his little speech, in no small part because King Vegeta's words are accompanied by an exponential increase in the noise level of the arena.

"And with that," his father bellows, his voice amplified but still barely reaching over the shouts and cheers of every single Saiyan crammed into the stands and boxes, as well as what sounds like some who are outside the arena, even, "I declare the tournament under way!"

The first two combatants emerge from opposite sides of the arena to a roar of approval from the crowd, and Vegeta, at long fucking last, is allowed to sit down and stop paying attention to any of this ridiculous carrying-on — as much as it's possible to not pay attention to it when it's taking place directly in front of him and so very loudly. Still, there isn't much interesting to pay attention to in the first few matches, not by Vegeta's standards, so he sinks down into his seat and allows his scowl and lack of attention to show exactly how he feels.

His father shoots him more than a few poisonous looks, clearly not pleased with Vegeta showing his disdain quite so openly — no surprise there — but then again, even he doesn't seem exactly thrilled with how the matches are preceding thus far, which Vegeta notes with some smug satisfaction right around the time the second match is wrapping up. There aren't any clear favorites thus far, or even any warriors with more power or skill than toddling cubs. That's the problem — or one of them, at least — with this tournament, just as he'd suspected it would be: all of the combatants so far have been individuals whose status is more noteworthy than their strength. Elite, yes; aristocratic, certainly — but _boring_ , uninspired. Vegeta wouldn't lower himself to sparring with any of these fools, and frankly, it's _embarrassing_ to consider that this might actually be the best this generation of first-class warriors has to offer. Besides himself, of course.

But he can't stand by his own side, or produce his own heirs, and that means one of these unworthy so-called candidates is going to end up clawing their way to the front of the pack, and that will be that. Vegeta's scowl deepens as the third match draws to a close, the son of a general sending a warrior twice his age flying across the arena, and he feels himself growing closer with every passing second to just going down there his damn self and seeing if even _one_ of the assembled combatants can even come close to holding their own against him.

Just as he feels himself nearing his breaking point, however, there's a sudden commotion as the fourth match is about to start. Vegeta is halfway out of his mind with boredom and frustration, but he turns to look at where a ripple of confusion seems to be spreading through the crowd, though he doesn't bother hoping that this will be something truly interesting.

It takes a moment to parse what's happening on the arena floor, given how far away he is and how many people are milling around like insects, shouting at one another. It's only when the shouting looks ready to dissolve into blows that he realizes what's happening: it looks as though there are tournament attendants actually trying to prevent the next contender from entering the arena. Trying rather unsuccessfully, too, despite how many of them there are. Vegeta finds himself leaning forward slightly, trying to get a better look at whoever the hell it is that's the source of the chaos, but there are too many bodies in the way. A ripple of sound is taking over the arena, starting close to the ground-level entrance where the combatants emerge and escalating from there, and only further obscuring what's actually happening down at ground level.

Vegeta frowns, and his frown twists into a sneer when Tarble leans over to ask, "What's that about?" 

He _should_ know — surely he should, since this whole mess is allegedly in his name — but he doesn't have the slightest idea, and he's growing more displeased by that with every passing second.

A shout breaks through the overall commotion at the ground level, and the mass of bodies around the entrance seems to heave, and then all at once, a single man forces his way through, standing with his feet planted firmly on the arena floor. Vegeta is distracted from looking down at the man himself, however, by the sharp intake of breath that comes from his father's seat. He and Tarble immediately turn to their father, but King Vegeta isn't paying any attention to either of his sons; instead, he's glaring down at the newcomer with an expression of pure fury.

The king isn't the only one who's had a strong reaction to the man's appearance, however; what had been confused, excited murmuring throughout the arena instantly explodes, with about a quarter of the spectators absolutely going berserk. If Vegeta had thought the crowd was loud before, then he doesn't know _how_ to classify the noise level now. Whoever this man is, Vegeta knows two things about him: his father hates him, and the crowd seems to love him.

He turns away from his father, looking back down at the arena floor with more genuine interest than he's felt about any part of these proceedings by far.

Physically speaking, the newcomer isn't anything terribly special; young, not especially tall or broad, though certainly far from slender, with a clean-shaven face and hair sticking out in all directions. His base power level isn't especially impressive, though, so at first, Vegeta really doesn't see what everyone's losing their minds over, quirking an eyebrow and glancing back at his father once more.

King Vegeta's expression doesn't reveal much more than it had a few moments ago: he's gritting his teeth in anger, but thus far he hasn't actually _said_ anything. From Vegeta's other side, though, Tarble sucks in a harsh breath, and when Vegeta looks over at his brother instead, it's clear that he, at least, has gathered _something_ about what's going on.

"Father, what's going on?" he asks, his tone more than a little short, turning to his father with a furrowed brow and tightly clenched fists. "You obviously know something."

The king doesn't answer; his expression blackens even farther, and he doesn't even spare Vegeta a glance. Tarble looks for a moment as though _he's_ going to speak, but a quick glance at their father seems to stay his tongue. Vegeta can actively feel his blood pressure rising with every second that he remains in the dark about something that everyone else is clearly in on.

"Don't ignore me," he snarls, raising his voice and shifting himself closer — not getting in his father's face, not quite, but close. The intent is certainly clear. "What is this?"

When no answer is forthcoming even after that, his voice rises to a shout. " _Tell me!"_

He's just about to go even further, just about to do his best to physically force an answer out of _someone_ , when King Vegeta finally speaks. 

"He's a third-class."

After everything, Vegeta almost thinks at first that he's misheard, that the cacophony coming from the stands has distorted his father's words or caused him to miss something. Surely that must be the case, or there must be some other explanation, something not so patently ludicrous. But even as he scoffs, snapping "That's ridiculous," something like doubt and shock is curling in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that his father's reaction, and the crowd's, would certainly be explained by such an absurd thing.

"He's the son of Bardock," King Vegeta says shortly, not bothering to otherwise dignify Vegeta's blustering denial with a response. "The younger son. I wouldn't recognize him otherwise, of course, but he could _be_ his father if I didn't know better."

That name sends a second thrill of shock through Vegeta, because, of course, out of all the lower-born warriors on or off-world, Bardock is the one he suspects every elite Saiyan warrior knows. Now that his father's said it, Vegeta realizes that he, too, can see the resemblance — the warrior down below in the arena really _could_ be Bardock, albeit a younger version and without the distinctive scar that covers nearly a quarter of the man's face. Bardock is notable, of course, because he is the strongest low-born warrior on record. Ever. The only one who's come close to him, as Vegeta recalls, is his son — but not _this_ son, who Vegeta's never seen before. Raditz must be the elder, judging by how young this other son of Bardock looks; he's a a low-ranking member of the palace guard, but one Vegeta vaguely knows. He wonders if he'd had any idea that his brother was going to do this. Surely, he thinks. Surely this must be premeditated — some sort of political statement —

After all, no matter how strong Bardock or any of his children might be, he was born a third-class. They were all born third-class. 

And there is no conceivable universe in which a third-class warrior of no particular note should be standing on the arena floor, waiting to take his turn to fight for a position at Vegeta's side.

Well. Vegeta finds that he certainly can't find it in himself anymore to complain about these proceedings as being a boring, useless waste of time. Beside him, his father is now growing nearly purple in the face; though his actions are controlled and he hasn't yet lashed out, his rage is beyond evident. Tarble looks nervous, glancing between his father, his brother, and the third-class warrior down below, who is standing calmly, stance relaxed, as though this is a perfectly normal spar he's preparing for.

"Do we know anything about him other than that he's Bardock's son?" Vegeta asks, voice clipped, brows drawing down low over his eyes. "Name? Position? Anything of note?"

"Kakarot, I believe," Tarble responds quietly. "If I'm recalling Bardock's personnel file correctly."

His brother's memory is impeccable, and his knowledge is both broad and deep, so Vegeta doesn't doubt that information is accurate. Kakarot, then. He narrows his eyes, trying to find something — anything — in Kakarot which will make sense of this situation. He looks so unassuming, though, and so far frankly unimpressive: stance sloppy, posture abysmal, lips curling up in the hint of what looks even from here like a dopey smile. If Vegeta had to guess at his power level, based on appearances alone, he'd put it at about 25. He's well-muscled, at least, and has a pretty face, but that seems to be all he has going for him.

All at once, King Vegeta seems to tip over the edge of rage and into action. He gestures without looking for an attendant, and a guard is instantly at his shoulder. 

"Have him removed at _once_ ," the king hisses, his voice promising violence — but before anyone can respond, Vegeta throws up a hand.

"I want to see him fight."

" _What?"_

Tarble says nothing, though he narrows his eyes. There's definitely something flinty in his brother's expression, he thinks, that promises no end of trouble.

"Is there any reason he shouldn't fight?"

"He is a low-born warrior of no distinction," the King hisses. "No matter _who_ his father is, he can't fight for the title of consort! It's ridiculous. The fact that you would even _suggest—_ "

"Is that an actual rule, or has it just never been done?" Vegeta asks archly, cutting his father off, even though he knows the answer. No third-class warrior has ever had the balls, but there aren't really any _rules_ to this tournament. And, if there are, _he_ gets to decide them. After all, it's _his_ heirs they'll be siring, _his_ right hand they'll sit at. "If he came, then I want to see him fight. If he's anything like any other third-class, he won't last ten seconds, and then the problem will take care of itself anyway."

No one bothers to answer Vegeta's initial question, but then, there isn't really any need for them to. He, his father, and his brother are all equally aware that there is not, technically, officially, any sort of rule or law saying that a third class warrior _can't_ participate in Vegeta's coming of age tournament, thus putting himself forward for the right to take the position of consort. Of course, equally obvious is the fact that that is mostly because, as far back as the history of the Saiyan race is recorded, no non-elite warriors have ever _tried._ Vegeta may have more interest in knowledge of tactics than history, but Tarble has read every bit of historical data twice over; if there _was_ any such example, no doubt he would have mentioned it by now. It's possible, Vegeta supposes, that some low-born warrior _had_ tried at some point in the past, but if they had, then surely they must have been... _dissuaded,_ swiftly and fiercely.

But, in direct contrast to _that_ thought, there Kakarot is, standing on the arena floor with a look of determination and something close to excitement on his face. That, as Vegeta knows all too well, is the look of a warrior who's looking forward to a good fight.

"This kind of pointless rebellion is beneath you," King Vegeta seethes, finally breaking the silence left in the wake of his son's statement. "Why you feel this is necessary I do not know, but I won't allow you to make a mockery of yourself, _my_ self, and all of House Vegeta."

To be fair, even Vegeta himself isn't one hundred percent certain why he's doing this. Curiosity? (Why is a man — a _third-class —_ with such an unimpressive power level so calmly confident, so thrilled by the possibility of the fight?) Amusement? (Honestly, the amount of sheer arrogance it takes to just calmly walk into the arena like that is incredible.) Entropy? (Just because he has grudgingly been playing along with the role prescribed for him in these proceedings doesn't mean he doesn't want to see how things fare with a little added chaos. The thought, in fact, is more than a little thrilling.)

"I don't see how letting some third-class get his face smashed in is making a mockery of anything," Vegeta replies, sneering. "This whole thing is ultimately my affair, isn't it? Let him fight."

Tarble leans over quickly, before their father can become truly apoplectic. "Father," he says quietly, though not so quietly that Vegeta can't hear, "if letting my brother have this will satisfy him..."

He doesn't even need to finish his sentence. The king grits his teeth, then shuts his eyes for a long, tense second, a vein pulsing in his forehead. But when he opens his eyes again, Vegeta immediately smirks, because it couldn't be more obvious to him that he's won.

The king makes a dismissive little hand gesture, and slowly, the attendants still trying unsuccessfully to herd Kakarot back out of the arena back away, looking more confused than anything. The section of the crowd which has been loudly cheering for the challenger this entire time somehow increases in volume yet farther, until they're so loud it's practically impossible for Vegeta to hear himself think.

From the other side of the arena, another warrior steps forward — Avoca, a seasoned member of the war council, with thick scars up and down his arms, ropy welts of tissue that promise expertise in battle. He doesn't get the cheers Kakarot is getting, but Vegeta is nevertheless certain he'll be the winner. 

And so the match begins.

Everything from Avoca's posture to the way he stands back from Kakarot, appraising him with an arrogant smirk, makes it obvious that he's just as convinced of the certainty of his own victory as Vegeta and, presumably, every other spectator is. But Kakarot doesn't seem phased at all — in fact, it's as though he doesn't even notice the fact that his opponent clearly thinks so little of him, though that would drive any self-respecting Saiyan warrior mad. What kind of lackadaisical idiot is Kakarot that he doesn't care that he's being deemed the obvious loser by his opponent and thousands of others besides?

He gets his answer a moment later: the kind who watches his older, stronger, obviously superior opponent for a few moments, and then dashes forward in the most transparent move possible, swinging for Avoca's head with a closed fist. He's fast enough, but Avoca wouldn't have survived this long if he was susceptible to attacks as obvious as that; he dodges neatly, side-stepping the blow with a smirk curling his lips—

—and just like that, he puts himself directly in the path of Kakarot's kick, a follow-up so smooth and quick that at first Vegeta hardly believes what he's seen. The strength behind it couldn't be more obvious, either: Avoca is sent to his knees, and while he's not out of the fight, not yet, the sight of him thrown to the ground by a no-name third-class warrior silences the arena almost instantly. For a heavy moment, that silence hangs in the air, breathless, shocked, and then it breaks as Kakarot follows up the kick with another punch. This time, clearly flabbergasted, Avoca doesn't even seem to _try_ and dodge the blow, and he goes flying. 

Vegeta isn't wearing a scouter, of course — not in full regalia — but the palace guards gathered around the dais are, and in the moment Avoca falls, he hears the frantic beeping alert that indicates a sudden spike in power level.

The far side of the arena erupts in the loudest cheering and hooting yet as one of the strongest, best-respected warriors on Vegetasei is knocked from the tournament in three hits by a warrior no one has ever heard of, and Kakarot smiles, but doesn't otherwise seem all that affected by his victory. It's as though he expected to win. It's as though he's just calmly waiting for his next opponent, as though Avoca was just a warm-up. 

Kakarot, Vegeta realizes with dawning horror as the next fighter emerges, is _glorious_. He is _effortless_. He is... Vegeta is a little disgusted with himself for how taken by surprise he is, but then again, what in all six hells was he _supposed_ to expect? Kakarot summarily cleans the floor with three of the king's top generals (and, on some level, Vegeta thanks the gods below for that, because the thought of ending up shackled to one of those crusty old blowhards is... well, Vegeta had been comforting himself with the idea that he was sure he could get away with murder if it came down to it. He could easily make it look like an accident). 

And even if the fights aren't over quite as quickly as the one against Avoca, given that Kakarot's opponents now seem aware at least that they shouldn't underestimate him, and though he starts to work up a sweat after two, gains a gash across his forehead after three and heavy bruising around his arms and throat after four, Kakarot still continues to win. Every time he defeats another opponent and briefly leaves the arena so that the next fight can begin, the noise level decreases by half at least. The portion of the crowd which has been cheering riotously for Kakarot this whole time — presumably other low-born warriors — is only getting louder with each passing fight, as their champion continues to make warriors with twenty or forty or sixty years' battlefield experience look like cubs barely old enough to walk.

The king, on the other hand, is growing more and more deathly quiet each time Kakarot steps into the ring. Vegeta is smirking to himself, amused by his father's obvious fury, and as the evening wears on, he finds he's actually actually starting to enjoy himself. Kakarot is clearly more talented than they could have possibly had reason to expect, and it's always at least a little intriguing to observe such an obvious display of strength. 

That enjoyment lasts right up until the moment when Kakarot knocks his seventh or eighth opponent out of the ring, bloodied and wheezing, and Vegeta abruptly realizes that, by his quick mental count, there will be only five combatants left. In other words, he realizes all at once that he now stands an uncomfortably realistic chance of ending up mated to a third-class warrior of no special renown. He realizes that Kakarot might actually _win._

"Fuck," he breathes, and watches the combatants enter the arena to begin the next match.

No matter how well the idiot has done in the tournament so far — and he is, Vegeta becomes increasingly convinced as he watches him fight, an idiot; perhaps the fact that he was bold enough to show up here has more to do with that idiocy than any great bravery or political action — this cannot possibly be allowed. It's _laughable._

He takes a little glance over at his father and receives no mercy — his shock and dawning horror must be more than obvious on his face. "This was your decision, boy,” King Vegeta says, his voice cold. “I only hope you can live with it."

Full darkness is gathering when Kakarot takes down the last remaining competitor, who is, incidentally, the most promising young general his father has and one of the strongest Saiyans born in living memory, other than Vegeta himself, of course. As Kakarot lands the final blow, the crowd instantly erupts, shrieks and shouts roaring out over the arena floor and practically buffeting the king and his sons directly off the royal dais. Many of the spectators are thrilled, cheering and beating their chests and thrusting victorious fists into the air; others are outraged, crying out in anger and looking to the king to do _something_ about the ridiculous, unbelievable, impossible thing that's just happened before their eyes. The combined noise is deafening and mind-numbing. It only drives the shock in Vegeta's blood to boil faster and faster into rage.

Kakarot turns to where the royal family is sitting, bows deeply but sloppily, his body loose, and then simply turns to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

Instantly, as soon as the fight is over, the entire arena descends into chaos. The lower classes are exploding on the opposite side, the elites and generals and members of the royal court have started murmuring and chattering and shouting over one another, and closer still, on the dais, King Vegeta looks as though he is about to start throwing energy blasts, his fists clenched and shaking in rage, his face purple as he shouts and tries to regain control of the situation.

In all of the chaos and commotion, Vegeta looks away for half a second, and when he looks back to the arena floor, Kakarot has disappeared. Vegeta feels his eyes narrow.

He may not be shouting and raging like his father is, but he's just as angry. The idea that a third-class could be insolent enough to enter the tournament — his own role in allowing Kakarot's entry doesn't cross his mind — and then the idea that he could somehow actually _win_ , treating what were allegedly some of the fiercest warriors in their entire race like they were underdeveloped cubs? And that insolent little bow...

"I want him found _now_ ," King Vegeta roars, and his son grits his teeth hard enough that they creak in his jaw. Yes. He'd very much like that too, actually. Kakarot might have bested a bunch of washed up generals and pompous nobles, and even a few genuinely respectable fighters, but he hadn't had to face _Vegeta_. 

"We are expending every effort, sire," one of the guards replies, but Vegeta turns away with a snort of disgust, barely even noticing that his father does very nearly the exact same thing. If the royal guard hadn't managed to keep Kakarot out of the arena, or drag him out once he was there, he really has to wonder what good any of them think they're going to do when it comes to tracking him down now.

Still, it seems a bit too convenient that Kakarot would be able to disappear so thoroughly, given that every eye in the entire gods-damned arena had been on him. Vegeta frowns and turns briefly to look at his father once again, but it's Tarble that catches his attention instead. He's got his head bowed slightly, speaking into the ear of one of his personal guards, who nods quickly as Vegeta watches and soars away. 

Vegeta very much doubts that his brother knows anything yet, but it looks like he's going to soon — sooner than his father, if Vegeta had to guess, given that his brother actually seems to be getting things accomplished, whereas King Vegeta is mostly still just blustering, stirring the guards and attendants around him like insects. Tarble looks up and catches his eye, brows furrowed, and Vegeta raises one eyebrow at him in half a question.

It's not as though he wouldn't like to shout at the moment, too — though he'd rather throw someone through a wall. Perhaps several walls. Perhaps several someones. If he were to open his mouth at all, he knows a tirade just like his father's would come pouring out. But, despite all of that, he can grudgingly recognize that Tarble's method is more likely to get actual results, a knife slicing through the chaos.

Sure enough, long before any of the squads his father eventually got organized to comb the arena and surrounding area have a chance to return, the man Tarble had sent off comes soaring back, landing nimbly at the edge of the dais and bending both a knee and his neck as he addresses the king. "Sire, I have a message from Commander Bardock."

The hive of activity around them freezes in an instant, though those still clamoring in the stands, of course, are much too far away to take notice.

"Yes?" King Vegeta says immediately, curt and commanding. The messenger bows even more deeply, until his forehead is nearly touching the ground; while he logically can't fault the man's survival instinct, Vegeta still snorts at the sight. 

"Sire, the commander wished for me to inform you that he is bringing his son to the palace," the man says, "as he thought that it would be a more appropriate venue in which to discuss—"

Vegeta doesn't bother sticking around to hear the rest of whatever missive Bardock has chosen to relay, whatever deference and obfuscation and _bullshit_ is going to come out of the man's mouth next. He has the part he cares about: Bardock and his spawn have been kind enough to go directly back to Vegeta's own domain, and so he knows where he needs to go to finally have a chance to vent his anger. 

"Vegeta—" Tarble calls, reaching out in an attempt to stop him even as he shoots into the air. Vegeta pays him absolutely no mind, of course; the only thing he's thinking about right now is exactly how satisfying it's going to be to put his fist in Kakarot's face and show him what an _actual_ Saiyan elite can do.

It's not far to the palace, and Vegeta is flying like Melis herself is at his tail. He feels his brother's familiar energy signature following hot on his heels; Tarble must have taken off just after him. He's half-surprised his father isn't following too, but he's certainly not upset about it. 

He doesn't know exactly where Kakarot and Bardock will be, but he takes an educated guess and makes for the general direction of his father's war room, and it isn't terribly hard to identify that he's headed in the right direction as he draws closer — Bardock's power level is hard to miss. He's accompanied by an absolutely pitiful power level, too — one that distinctly resembles what Kakarot's had looked like before the fight, and nothing at all like what he'd looked like when he was actually fighting. 

Vegeta growls under his breath and, somehow, manages to find an even further reserve of speed.

When he busts into the war room, bowling through the door with a scowl already deeply etched on his face, he's unsurprised to find that, sure enough, there is Commander Bardock, his hands behind his back and his own face twisted in a deep frown, and there, beside him, is Kakarot — Vegeta very intentionally doesn't linger looking at his face too long at all, only casting a quick, scathing glance at him; he's half-concealed behind his father anyway — and beside the two of them is another face he vaguely recognizes, another low-born warrior who's under Commander Nappa, if he remembers right. Raditz, then. Kakarot's brother and Bardock's eldest son — though clearly he doesn't have whatever gene it is that makes Bardock and Kakarot look like carbon fucking copies of one another. 

"Who wants to start explaining what the _fuck_ is going on," Vegeta snarls. Behind him, just out of view, Tarble sighs and briefly shuts his eyes, as though praying for patience.

Bardock has his head inclined respectfully, but it's not hard to see how flinty his gaze is. "Prince Vegeta, my son acted without my knowledge—" he begins, but Vegeta doesn't give him a chance to get much farther than that.

"I'm sure he did, but then I wouldn't expect you to be holding him by the tail at his age," Vegeta spits back. "That doesn't answer my fucking question."

Kakarot's brother steps forward slightly, taking up a position at his father's shoulder. "Sire, my brother—"

"Be quiet," Vegeta cuts him off. "I'm not sure why you're even here, so don't speak until I speak to you."

"Is the king on his way?" Bardock asks, trying a different tactic. Vegeta bares his teeth at him in an outright snarl.

"I assume so." Vegeta sees Tarble trying to start to speak, but he doesn't let his brother have the chance. "But I don't see how that's relevant. _I'm_ here now, and I'm the one whose name is going to be dragged through the mud because of what your _whelp_ did, so I don't think it's an unreasonable request, Commander, to ask that you speak to _me—"_

"I don't see what the problem is," a new voice says, from Vegeta's right. He's been so busy shouting at Bardock that he hasn't actually been paying all that much attention to the _niarath_ in the room. "I won the tournament, didn't I?"

Vegeta turns very, very slowly, and makes eye contact for the first time — well, for the first time in this space, much more intimate than from across the arena floor — with Kakarot, who has the _absolute fucking gall_ to meet his eyes straight out, rather than bowing his head as his father and brother have both done or showing his neck at all, and to look like he's genuinely confused about the situation, _and_ , worst of all, to look like at Vegeta like he thinks _Vegeta_ is the one being unreasonable or acting out of turn in this situation. In his peripheral, Vegeta sees Raditz wince, but it hardly registers.

"I suppose you did, third-class," Vegeta says, with even more emphasis than normal on Kakarot's rank. "That's not the problem so much as the result. What I want to know is how and why you felt you had the right to enter the tournament in the first place."

And what the hell they're going to do now, but Vegeta's too mad at the moment to even think about that, really. He'd rather be pissed off, and it'll be easier to be pissed off he focuses on Kakarot's motivations and how stupid they probably are, rather than thinking about a plan to mitigate the fallout.

"Kakarot," Bardock says urgently, but his son ignores him.

"What do you mean?" Kakarot says; he sounds a little angry, but still _genuinely confused,_ which somehow manages to make Vegeta see an altogether new shade of red. What kind of an idiot does he have to _be_ , to have gotten this far, to have caused _this much_ chaos and confusion, and not even realize what he's done in the slightest? "No one said I couldn't. Not until I got out there, anyway."

Vegeta can't decide whether to laugh or strangle him — or, at least, he can't decide which to do first. " _No one said you couldn't?"_

"I wanted to see how I'd do," Kakarot says, now sounding a little defensive. "I mean, whoever wins is supposed to be the strongest out of all Saiyans, right? So—"

" _Kakarot_ ," Bardock says again, cutting his son off with gritted teeth. "Why don't you let your brother and I do the talking."

"No, no, I think we should certainly hear what he has to say," Vegeta snarls. "After all, he's set himself up as my _betrothed_ ; that would mean he outranked you, Commander."

"Brother," Tarble says, even as Bardock physically places himself in front of Kakarot, who's made a sound like he's finally starting to grasp at least part of the magnitude of what he's done, his eyes going wide. "There's no need to go making declarations like that just yet."

"At least one of my sons still has some sense," King Vegeta says as he finally arrives, blustering into the room with what seems like half a battalion behind him. Bardock and Raditz, and even Kakarot, though he looks a little shell-shocked, all bow from the waist, wrists crossed over their chests, a deeper honor than the way they'd reacted to Vegeta and Tarble. "Commander, I don't know what Prince Vegeta has already said to you, but I'd like to hear your explanation." He's clearly not any less pissed than Vegeta, but he's at least had time to cool his head a little on the way over, rather than sprinting right for Bardock and riling himself up by screaming at him the way Vegeta's done.

"Of course, sire," Bardock says, still standing in front of Kakarot. "I had no idea that Kakarot intended to enter the tournament; he said nothing to myself or to his brother." King Vegeta briefly glances at Raditz and nods, his brows drawn low and his gaze cold. "If we had known, sire, I assure you we would have stopped him."

"Those kinds of platitudes aren't useful to me, Commander," King Vegeta says. "It's far too late for that now."

A muscle in Bardock's jaw twitches, and he ducks his head again. "Yes, sire."

"All of this is useless," Vegeta snaps. "Anything except a groveling apology and a solution is useless."

"A solution to what?" King Vegeta immediately snaps back. The difference in how he'd been speaking to Bardock and how he now speaks to Vegeta is... stark. Bardock had received leashed, obvious anger, but equally obvious respect; Vegeta gets no better treatment than one would give an errant cub. He bares his teeth in a snarl, but his father cuts him off with a growl before he can speak. "The only _solution_ here is to proceed with the situation you've landed us in.."

Bardock and Raditz are clearly shocked; Kakarot doesn't seem to quite know what's going on, and of course, Tarble heard Vegeta and King Vegeta have some version of this conversation already, back at the arena. "Sire?" Bardock asks after a moment, when no one else has said anything.

"As I said, Commander, we will proceed as though your son were... anyone else," King Vegeta says. "It's too late now to do anything else. While he certainly wouldn't have been allowed to enter the tournament if I had had any say over it, we are past that now."

"Wait," Kakarot says. "What are you saying?" Raditz kicks him unsubtly. "Um, sire."

The king levels him with an assessing stare, his eyes narrowed. Vegeta, thoroughly disgusted with the proceedings, sneers at his father and glares at Kakarot, but King Vegeta isn't paying him any attention.

"Present yourself in the morning," King Vegeta says to Kakarot after a long moment. "You have much to learn if you're going to become my son's consort."

—

Vegeta punches his way through about half the capital before he starts to feel even halfway capable of rational thought again. Tarble had tried to talk to him, but flown off somewhere around the thirty-minute mark, when Vegeta had refused to answer him and had instead only screamed and punched rocks. He hasn't seen his father since he left the war room, but that's to be expected — and anyway, Vegeta doesn't know what he would have done if he'd stayed around King Vegeta any longer than he had. Not to mention Bardock, and _Kakarot._

 _Ah yes._ Kakarot. Who King Vegeta is apparently quite serious about bringing into the royal line, in an utter mockery of Vegeta and his wishes and also the whole idea of monarchy and class and — everything. _Gods_. Vegeta really, really, really can't believe this is happening. 

He's so busy being pissed he doesn't notice the power signature coming up behind him, especially because it's so fucking pitiful.

"Um — Vegeta?"

He freezes, then slowly clenches his fists, breathing heavy. He doesn't say anything, and he hears Kakarot shifting awkwardly behind him. 

"Vegeta?"

Still doesn't say anything. He can feel his blood pumping, though, can feel adrenaline pouring through him like cold fire. Kakarot is an idiot for seeking him out, and even more of an idiot for not sensing the killing intent rolling off of Vegeta in waves, and even _more_ of an idiot for not running while he has the chance.

"Look, Vegeta — I know your dad said for me to come back tomorrow, but I figured you and I should talk."

" _Prince_ Vegeta."

"What?"

"I am _Prince Vegeta_ , third-class. And _my dad_ is your King, Vegeta III." 

"Oh — right, sorry." The idiot actually _laughs_ , though he does sound a bit sheepish about it. "I'm not so great with that kinda thing. I guess that's probably what your d — um, the king meant when he said I have a lot to learn, huh?"

Very, very slowly, Vegeta turns around. Kakarot is actually _smiling_ at him, cheeks dimpled and eyes bright, though there is at least a hint of uncertainty there that hadn't been before; he's still wearing the dusty, sweaty gear he'd fought in earlier, and there's a long scratch along his cheek. Vegeta feels his focus narrow in on that graze; it feels like gut-wrenching proof that Kakarot is real, that all of this has really happened, that this isn't some absolutely maddening dream.

"You couldn't learn all that you would need to know to become consort if we tried to teach you for the rest of your worthless life," he says coldly, slowly, every word carefully articulated to be as sharp and blade-sharp as possible. He watches with a certain fierce, raging glee the way each one strikes Kakarot, one after another, building up with a steady momentum until something cold and hurt flashes in Kakarot's eyes; evidently even he is not enough of an idiot to fail to grasp Vegeta's mood _now_. 

He is, however, enough of an idiot to talk back regardless. "Look, there's no need to be so prickly about it," Kakarot says defensively. "It's like your d— King Vegeta said, right? What's done is done. I didn't exactly mean for this to happen, but—"

"You _didn't mean for this to happen?"_ Vegeta seethes, all of the fury that had been tightly leashed and honed to a point mere seconds ago suddenly flaring out, arcing through his body like lightning in the desert. 

"I just wanted to enter the tournament!" Kakarot protests. "I mean, I didn't think — I didn't know that —"

"Of course you _knew!"_ Vegeta is getting so angry now that he starts to actually hover above the ground without even really noticing, his fists clenched at his sides so tightly that the joints start to creak. "Every cub in a nursing pod knows what the coming-of-age tournament means, you cannot possibly mean to convince me you didn't _know—"_

"I mean, I didn't know it was _real!_ I guess I figured there was some real consort picked out, and I'd just—"

Something about that strikes far, far too close to home. Because hadn't Vegeta himself only gone forward with allowing Kakarot to compete in the first place because he wanted to see what would happen, because he thought it might be amusing, because he wanted to piss his father off as much as possible? And now here he is, set to be shackled — apparently — to some useless half-wit, both of them, evidently, destined to be written forever in the history books as the shame of the line of Vegeta, the crown prince who had marred the legacy of his entire house by bringing a low-born warrior into the rank of consort.

"Oh, this is all _very_ real," he says, and then without further warning strikes Kakarot full across the face.

He goes flying, evidently taken completely by surprise, and lands some distance away, leaving a significant skid in the red dirt. Vegeta breathes heavily for a long moment, stock-still, waiting for him to get up, to fight back, _anything_ , his blood singing fiercely with the promise of using up his anger in the best way he knows how. But Kakarot, when he does sit up, does so slowly, with no obvious immediate intent to fight back; he's cradling his cheek, where Vegeta has left a mark, and there's hard, glittering anger in his eyes, obvious even from this distance, but he just sits on the ground and glares.

"I'm not happy about it either, you know," he says. Vegeta snarls wordlessly, practically _daring_ him to continue, but continue he does, blithely unaware, as Vegeta is coming to understand he very often is, of the fact that he's treading ever closer to danger as he does so. "I mean, I don't even really know what being a royal consort _means_ , other than—" He blushes, suddenly, unexpectedly, and then redirects himself. "Well, I mean, I don't know much about it. But there's no reason to take that out on each other; maybe we can just—"

Vegeta's heard more than enough of _that_. 

"Get on your feet and _fight me_ ," he snarls. "You got us into this because you were so determined to see if you were the strongest; well, no one you fought today would last ten seconds against me. So _fight me_ , Kakarot, you coward."

He wants to burn through his rage, wants to put it to good use, wants to do _something_ , anything, other than stand here and burn and know that the idiot still on the ground in front of him has taken _everything_ from him in less than a single day.

And instead, what he gets is a shout from behind him, as both his brother and Kakarot's make sudden, unwelcome appearances. Tarble tows his brother backward with more strength than Vegeta is used to seeing him display, and Raditz crouches in front of his own brother just long enough to help him to his feet, looking at Vegeta warily. Tarble spins them both around so that they're facing away from the other two, and speaks quickly and urgently into his brother's ear.

"Are you out of your mind?" he hisses, still with a firm grip on Vegeta's arm. "Anyone could see you. Are you _trying_ to create even more chaos than we've already got?"

"As though I care about things like that," Vegeta spits back defiantly, but though he'd never admit it aloud, he has to concede that his brother has a point. The last thing he wants right now is for someone to see him and Kakarot fighting and allow that knowledge to spread through the city — he fully intends to find a way out of this arrangement as quickly as possible, but in the meantime, it's better not to give the idle gossips and scheming idiots of his father's court anything more to talk about with regard to this whole ordeal than they already have.

He doesn't say anything more, just shakes his arm free of his brother's strangling grip, casts one more scathing glance over his shoulder at Kakarot and Raditz, and shoots into the sky. This time, he's careful to ensure that no one follows him, and he makes the entire journey back to palace alone and in silence.

—

Vegeta wakes up the next morning and, for a few blissful seconds, isn't aware that this is different from any other day. Of course, as soon as he remembers the shitshow of the previous evening's events, his mood sours completely, and the day doesn't improve from there.

He's already known throughout the palace, amongst the servants and the guards and the court, for his short, unforgiving temper and his sometimes... challenging personality. His penchant for both bark and bite is very familiar to those who live and work here. In the days immediately following the coming of age ceremony, however, he exceeds even his own impressive reputation, to the point that people become less and less subtle about doing anything they can to avoid him. He doesn't see his brother or his father at all, and the only times he's approached by anyone else are when it is absolutely necessary, which, frankly, suits him just fine at the moment; he doesn't want to put up with anyone's bullshit right now any more than _they_ want to have to deal with him.

Worst of all is that Kakarot has now started to make regular appearances at the palace — King Vegeta hadn't been kidding when he'd instructed the idiot to show up to start being prepared to actually do the duties of the royal consort. Vegeta avoids him with a vengeance, but it's impossible to forget that he's _here_ , in Vegeta's own home, the halls that have been his father's domain for his entire life and will one day be his own. Even if they never cross paths, the knowledge that Kakarot is walking these halls sets his teeth on edge.

Still, while he may be able to ignore Kakarot by making sure to be wherever that idiot isn't, it's impossible for Vegeta and the rest of the residents of the palace to avoid each other entirely. He has his responsibilities, for one thing, duties he refuses to shirk now more than ever, and for another thing, he has to train, and those unlucky enough to be assigned to his command have to train with him.

In this more than anything else, everyone is doing their very best to stay far, far away from him, but there are always those unlucky few who aren't able to escape the training yard fast enough when Vegeta arrives. The wisest — and the most experienced — have found other places entirely in which to train in the past few days, but not everyone has that luxury. Lower ranking members of the royal guard, for example, and trainees, and others who find themselves at the bottom of the heap — _they_ don't have anywhere else to go, or else they're required to be here. And that means Vegeta still has _someone_ to beat into the ground, at least, thank Yilos.

Then again, fighting little whelps like the ones he's been reduced to of late is almost worst than not having anyone to fight at all. He's sent more than a few to the tanks, laying them out flat within seconds, in most cases, the only exceptions being the times when he decides to play with his food. Normally, his father would scold him for such brutality against their own men — normally, for that matter, Vegeta wouldn't feel drawn to it. Normally, if he were feeling _this_ pent-up, he would simply lead a squad to some satisfyingly fragile planet or other and do his _duty_ until his mind was quieted.

But, of course, nothing about this situation is normal. Nothing whatsoever.

Vegeta drives his fist into the cheek of the nameless, faceless body in front of him, the motion practically rote at this point — he no longer even bothers putting any effort in, only slamming his body around with the relatively minimal amount of force that's required to take them down, over and over and over again. Worst of all — well, not worst _of all_ , there's certainly enough to hate about this situation, but _horrible_ , _gut-wrenching_ , is the fact that as he slams his way through the unlucky bastards who are expendable enough to wind up in front of him, his mind keeps going back to Kakarot, over and over again. 

This mindless slog isn't making him feel any better, isn't doing anything whatsoever to clear his mind or calm his temper, because there's no one here who can give him even half the challenge he'd need in order to actually accomplish anything. But Kakarot...

Kakarot, no matter what else he now knows about him, really had been something remarkable. He'd been far more than Vegeta had expected to see from _anyone_ at the tournament, let alone some unknown third-class warrior. These idiots he's been plowing through here in the same training ground where he's been fighting since he was a cub, they're _nothing_ , they don't even begin to approach his level. No one does, of course. But Kakarot could, perhaps, come closer than anyone ever has. If Vegeta could just fight him _properly,_ not a sucker-punch that Kakarot didn't even return, but a _real_ fight _—_

He stops moving so suddenly that the soldier he'd been "sparring with" stumbles backwards a few steps before she realizes that he's no longer pursuing her. Vegeta's attention couldn't be farther from this place, this moment, because he's just had an idea, the most incredible idea.

It's perfect. So simple, so elegant, and it will allow him to turn the shame, shock, and intrigue of Kakarot's class back on him, use it to get himself _out_ of this mess in the very same way that he'd gotten into it. He smiles to himself and abruptly leaves the training grounds without bothering to tell anyone where he's going, or acknowledge them at all. There's only one person right now whose opinion he needs on this matter, and even then, only because Vegeta knows his own knowledge of law and history pale in comparison only to that of one other. If this _is_ possible — and he's sure it is, so sure, but he has to be _beyond_ sure — Tarble will know.

He finds his brother in his quarters, and doesn't miss the way Tarble outright winces and then sighs at seeing him.

"Yes?" he says, sounding tired of their conversation already. But, blinded by the viciously gleeful relief of having found his solution, Vegeta very magnanimously decides not to get pissed at him.

"I have a hypothetical for you," Vegeta replies. Tarble tenses instantly; it's obvious that he knows exactly what sort of hypothetical his brother means. It probably isn't terribly difficult to tell, really, given the contrast between what Vegeta's mood has been like for the past couple of days and what it's like now.

"Go on," Tarble says cautiously, sitting up straighter and leaning across his worktable to look his brother in the eye directly. 

Vegeta smiles, a dangerous slash of teeth that only makes his brother tense further. "Kakarot is a third-class," he begins, starting with the obvious, the inarguable, so that he can build his case from there. "And among the lower classes, matches look quite different."

Tarble freezes. "I don't think—" he starts to say, tone a clear warning, but Vegeta bowls right past him, his own triumph only growing at the fear in his brother's voice. That, really, is all the confirmation he needs.

"The lower classes are fond of bondmating ceremonies," Vegeta presses, watching with satisfaction as Tarble shuts his eyes in that very familiar expression that he's worn since they were cubs, the one which says he thinks Vegeta is about to do or say something that will bring them both some kind of trouble. "And, as I'm sure you know, a key component of the bondmating is the duel."

"Vegeta—" Tarble tries again, but once again, his brother ignores him, blood singing as it hasn't since before the blasted tournament.

"And if I win the duel," Vegeta says, "or, rather, _when_ I am victorious, that will be the end of it, won't it? That will give me the right to break off the partnership."

Tarble says nothing for a moment, while Vegeta stands there with his teeth already bared in triumph, his tail puffing out behind him. His brother's eyes flickering with some unreadable emotion, something that makes him look quite a bit older than he actually is. 

Then, very quietly, he says, "Clearly you've already made up your mind. You're insane, but you won't listen to me when I tell you this is idiotic, so what's the point of trying to talk you out of it?"

Vegeta's expression twists into a smirk, accepting this for the agreement it so obviously is, no matter what bluster Tarbel may try to put up in front of it. Immediately, he turns to go, his mind already spinning three steps ahead; now that his course is decided, he's _more_ than eager to get on with it. Just before he reaches the doorway, however, his brother speaks up once more, drawing Vegeta's attention just enough that he turns back for a moment to meet his eyes.

"Just remember," Tarble says, his tone unreadable, his brow furrowed. "This will be on _your_ head, no matter what the outcome."

Vegeta doesn't pause. "I'm counting on it," he says, and he's out the window without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why three weeks between chapter 1 and chapter 2 and 24 hours between chapter 2 and chapter 3? Well, that would be because both this chapter and the last one have been about 90% done since before I'd posted any of this, and I've only just now gotten my head out of my ass enough to finish and post them. Also: because I have no self-control whatsoever.

For the second time in the span of only a week, Vegeta finds himself in his room, preparing for to go down to the arena for a fight, while his brother lectures him.

Beyond those similarities, of course, the circumstances couldn't be more different. This time, rather than trying to persuade and placate him, Tarble is fuming, pacing across the room at a rate that's almost comical. And this time... this time, Vegeta isn't wrapped in fine robes and gold jewelry or any of the kind of stuffy, useless, formal clothing that he'd had to wear to his coming-of-age tournament. And he's not preparing to make his way to the arena grounds to _spectate_.

He tightens a stray strap on his armor and feels his lips curl in a slow smirk.

"This is absolute madness," Tarble is saying, as though he hasn't said those exact words dozens of times over already — or as though he's somehow convinced that _this_ time is going to be the time Vegeta finally listens and agrees. "This isn't the kind of thing you can just play around with, brother. Even _you_ won't be able to just shout your way out of the consequences if this doesn't go the way you think it will."

Vegeta rolls his eyes where Tarble can't see him, though this, too, is something he's already heard over and over and _over_ again. The argument is far from convincing, especially because Tarble had grudgingly admitted, days ago, when Vegeta was first laying out his plan and his brother hadn't yet become truly desperate to dissuade him, that there was, at least, _something_ of an artful brilliance to the idea, whether or not he thought it was going to work.

The whole thing boils down to basic concepts of tactics, which Vegeta has always had an excellent mind for. The concept is foundational: note your opponent's unique characteristics, and use those to inform your strategy. Turn even what might have been advantages, such as uncommon speed or strength, to your own advantage.

Of course, it plays out a little differently in _this_ context than in a proper battle, but the principle is the same. Kakarot, being a third-class warrior, having come from nowhere and achieved — so everyone thinks — a position in the royal household, has taken on a certain role already in the week since the tournament as a sort of hero of the lower-class warriors. Not everyone has the same opinion of him, even among the lower classes — some particularly proud individuals seem to view him as something of a class traitor, for instance — but by and large, that is the narrative which has sprung up in the minds of the populace, both inside the palace gates and in the city beyond, and, most likely, in the minds of every Saiyan currently fighting out in the black, too.

So Kakarot is a hero of the common man, and Vegeta is the haughty, arrogant crown prince, heir to the throne and well-known throughout the ranks for both his power and his temper. It's only natural, then, that the popular narrative surrounding them would turn into a question of the line between what it means to be a Saiyan and what it means to be a _royal._ After all, not every Saiyan has a massive tournament to determine who will produce their heirs. Even the elites don't, though they are still known to be selective about choosing mates based on strength and potential, in order to produce the strongest possible offspring. Beyond the top echelons of society, however, there's not nearly as much emphasis on making logical choices around selecting a partner, and much _more_ emphasis on the process of bondmating.

Vegeta has never known an elite to be bondmated, and, in his perusal of the records on the subject in preparation for this very day, he had discovered that there hasn't been a member of the royal line with a bondmate in six generations. Tarble, still practically tearing his hair out and wearing a hole in Vegeta's floor with his insufferable pacing, is convinced beyond reason that Vegeta is going to be the first in all that time.

"—you _saw_ the way he fought," Tarble is saying at present, when Vegeta deigns to process what's coming out of his mouth again. "No one even came close to posing a challenge. I don't doubt you could have bested every fighter in that tournament, too, but Kakarot is essentially an unknown factor. We don't actually have any idea what the upper limit of his strength is, because we haven't seen it _tested_ yet." He pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. "Vegeta, if you _lose—_ "

That, finally, is the point at which Vegeta can't hold in his response anymore. He bursts out laughing, a harsh, cutting sound that makes Tarble's face harden that much farther as Vegeta turns around to face him.

"If I lose?" Vegeta asks archly. "To a third-class warrior, who no one has ever heard of, who came out of _nowhere—"_

"I'm sure any of the men he fought at the tournament would have said the exact same thing," Tarble snaps back, throwing a hand in the air. "And _they_ weren't at risk of ending up _bondmated_ if they lost. I would have hoped you'd show a little more caution, though I certainly should have known better." His voice has trailed off to a frustrated mutter by the end, and Vegeta sneers at him.

"Those idiots weren't half the warrior I am," he says. "You know that as well as I do."

Tarble glares at him, but doesn't deny it, which only makes Vegeta's sneer melt into a smirk. His brother has always lacked a certain boldness, preferring to stand back and strategize rather than diving forward and taking what he wants. 

It's true, Vegeta supposes, that this battle carries with it great risks — but those risks are also what make it such an excellent opportunity. The duel is a common part of bondmating ceremonies, and carries a great deal of weight: whoever wins gets to decide if the match goes forward. And that means that — as even Tarble had been forced to admit — it's Vegeta's best, and perhaps only, option for getting out of this damned arrangement. 

Where his brother sees only danger, Vegeta sees an opportunity. By virtue of being a third-class, Kakarot has already broken all the rules around what being a royal consort would typically entail. And if Vegeta wins the bonding fight — and _obviously_ he will, Kakarot may be strong compared to other lowborn warriors, and even compared to the aged generals and pompous idiots who had competed in the tournament, but Vegeta is the _prince of all Saiyans_ — then he gets to call the whole thing off. 

—

Kakarot hadn't stopped staring at him, at first, when Vegeta had announced his intent to challenge him to a bondmating duel. 

_Everyone_ had been staring, as a point of fact, their expressions ranging from Tarble's stormy nervousness to Bardock's pure shock and King Vegeta's fury, but Kakarot's had been the only stare Vegeta had found himself uncomfortably unable to interpret. He'd been very much under the impression that Kakarot was the type to show all of his emotions right out in the open — in the very brief time they'd known each other, Vegeta had been very thoroughly convinced that the idiot was far from intelligent enough to engage in deception of any kind. But here he was, pinning Vegeta in place with an expression that was entirely foreign. The only thing Vegeta had really been all that certain of was that there was a sort of slow surprise creeping over Kakarot's face — _pleased_ surprise, not shock or horror.

He'd frowned, a bit unsettled by that despite himself, but said nothing, turning away from Kakarot to face his father.

King Vegeta was staring at him with clear disdain, but Vegeta had, of course, been able to match it with equal fervor; it had been a long, long time since he'd last been truly intimidated by his father's anger. It was a long moment before either of them actually spoke, though, and to Vegeta's surprise, when the king _did_ speak, his tone was level, his words clipped but controlled.

"If that is what you choose to do, I won't stop you," he'd said, though the undercurrent was clear: _On your own head be it._

Tarble had looked just as shocked as Vegeta had felt, staring at their father with something remarkably like fury on his own face for a moment; it would seem he'd been fully convinced he'd have an ally in telling Vegeta what an idiotic plan he thought this was. But King Vegeta stood firm, only pinning Vegeta with the weight of his gaze for a moment more before addressing Bardock, beginning the process of arranging the duel itself — as the sires of the two involved, of course, they'd be responsible for arranging it, one of the few places parents or family were ever involved in a Saiyan courtship.

Vegeta couldn't be bothered with the details; as long as they told him when and where the duel was to take place, he was _more_ than content to leave the rest to his father and Bardock. As the king and Bardock started to discuss preparing for the duel, however, with Tarble reluctantly pulled in as well by an authoritative question from their father, Vegeta was left alone with only Kakarot's focus on him, and try as he might, he'd found he couldn't avoid or ignore the hot, prickling awareness of the idiot's stare on the back of his neck.

" _What?"_ he'd hissed, eventually, making eye contact with Kakarot for only a split second before directing his scowl at a patch of wall instead. He'd felt it was far less likely that he would lose control of his temper if he looked at a nice, unassuming bit of stonework than if he had to set eyes on Kakarot's ridiculous face, his annoyingly earnest expressions, those wide, naive eyes.

It had been a long moment before Kakarot answered. Vegeta had seen him shifting from the corner of his eye, caught the lightning-quick flicking of his tail, a clear mark of uncertainty.

After all that, what Kakarot finally said was, "D'you really mean it?"

His voice was quiet, far more subdued than Vegeta had yet heard it, which would have been concerning enough, really, with how brash and brazen Kakarot usually was. But worse — far worse — was the cautious hope, the _happiness_ finally obvious in his voice where it hadn't been in his eyes.

Yilos below, Vegeta had realized with a vivid flash of fury. The idiot thought — he thought —

"I _mean_ to be well rid of you," Vegeta snapped, not bothering to so much as turn his head to look back at Kakarot as he said it; the _last_ thing he wanted was to see Kakarot's face on top of the anger and disgust already causing him to grit his teeth and clench his fists against the urge to lash out. "It's only lucky for me your low-born traditions happen to be so convenient. A few minutes in the ring, and no one will contest my right to end this farce."

He hadn't waited around for a response, though it had been impossible to miss the shocked little inhale and the way Kakarot turned away from him, finally, _finally_ leaving Vegeta the hell alone. Good. If he'd known this was what it took to achieve that result, he might have thought to do it sooner. As it was, Vegeta had cast one more look at his father, and Bardock, and Tarble, all of them finally conspiring to be _helpful_ for once as they laid out the logistics of the duel that would cut Vegeta free, and then he'd turned on his heel and left, ignoring Kakarot completely. There were better uses of his time, after all, then standing around while others worked. Not that he thought he'd need more than a minute or two to take Kakarot down, but some time training would do him well regardless — at the very least, he felt the sudden urge to hit things very, very hard.

—

The arena isn't nearly as full as it had been on the day all of this nonsense had started — bondmating duels are far less of a spectator sport than the heir's coming of age tournament, after all. There are still plenty of people here to observe, of course, but if pressed, Vegeta wagers he could name most of them, sparing the ones who are here from Kakarot's side. These things are usually a community affair — family, friends, invested parties. If they could have simply done this at the training grounds, Vegeta would have agreed in a heartbeat; he doesn't see the sense in making even _this_ much fuss over a fight that might as well be a foregone conclusion. His father, however, had insisted, so now he finds himself glaring out at the arena floor from just inside the fighters' entrance, the end of his tail flicking with impatience as his father gives yet another pointless speech.

Kakarot, he knows, is just on the other side of the arena. Vegeta can't see him, but he'd swear he can _feel_ him, a pulsating aura that makes his blood boil. The only thing separating them now is the expanse of hard red dirt and the few moments' time that it will take for King Vegeta to finish speaking, and then — finally, _finally_ — this will all be over.

He breathes in deeply, his eyes narrowing and his pulse heating as his father's speech reaches its climax. He's barely listening to the words, but the rhythm of the words would make it obvious even if not for the polite applause that rises up over the tail end of the speech, a far cry from the raucous cheering of the coming of age tournament. Vegeta only barely wits for an affirming nod and bow from the attendant standing nearest the entrance of the arena before he strides out, closing his eyes for just a second to combat the sunlight streaming down brightly from overhead.

In the instant before he opens them again, he hears the _crunch_ of Kakarot's boots on the dirt on the other side of the arena, and he doesn't bother to bite down on the growl that grows in his throat.

They meet in the center of the great arena, standing several strides apart, sizing one another up. Kakarot looks calm, confident; he may not be smirking or grandstanding around like an idiot, but there's still enough arrogance inherent to the way he's holding himself, as though he thinks he's Vegeta's _equal_ , to send red briefly washing across Vegeta's vision.

Just a few more minutes, he reminds himself. Just a few more minutes, and then he need never think about this idiot again. He'll be free of Kakarot entirely — it will be as though all of this were just an extended practical joke, or perhaps a mass hallucination.

He's so busy thinking about how ready he is for the fight to be over that he's slightly behind Kakarot in settling into his fighting stance, meaning that it's Vegeta who ends up determining when the match will begin, because as soon as they're both ready, there's only a moment's hesitation from both of them before, in the space of a heartbeat, they leap forward as one.

They meet in midair, a flurry of fists that makes Vegeta's blood sing out and his teeth clench in a sneering smile. _Good_ , he thinks; the strength Kakarot had shown before, at the tournament, hadn't been a fluke. This won't be a disappointment, as he'd half-feared it might. Hells, it might even be _fun,_ and he certainly feels like he deserves a little fun after all of the bullshit he's put up with for the past week or so. Kakarot doesn't smile back, at least not that Vegeta sees — but then, there's only a split second before Vegeta is slipping behind him, aiming for a lightning-quick blow to the back of the head that Kakarot deflects with his forearm.

For just a moment, it's as though they both forget what it is that they're actually here for. They circle one another briefly, making eye contact as they slowly soar counter-clockwise, head-high above the dirt, and if Vegeta didn't know any better, he'd almost think this was a training bout, a spar to let some tension off and learn what they can from one another. Kakarot studies him, in that brief pause, and Vegeta can't help but wonder what the hell he's seeing; Vegeta studies Kakarot right back and catalogues the loose readiness of his shoulders, the ripple of musculature in his abdomen, the broad spread of his chest. Then, all at once, Kakarot darts forward, Vegeta leaps to meet him, and the reality of their situation comes crashing right back: Kakarot is no training partner, no _equal_ nor even someone Vegeta would normally lower himself by fighting. He's somehow gotten this far, but Vegeta certainly isn't going to allow him to get any farther. 

No sense in playing with his food, then. Better by far to end this now and be fucking _done_ with it.

Vegeta lashes out, his hands curling into claws as he swipes for Kakarot — but Kakarot isn't where he had been a moment before, and he meets only empty air. Snarling, he spins around just in time to avoid a blow that would have clipped him on the ear, and allows Kakarot to push him toward one edge of the arena for a moment, the space it takes for them to trade another pair of blows, before he pushes back, a give and take that has them travelling over the entire surface of the arena floor.

Several minutes now they've been going at one another without much more than a moment's pause, and neither one of him has opened their mouth to say a single word. There's been no taunting, no goading — only silence broken by the sound of flesh on flesh and the occasional grunt or exclamation. Vegeta finds he's never felt less like jeering at an opponent, in fact. There are more important things to consider, like the fact that Kakarot _keeps_ managing to turn the momentum of the fight against him and force Vegeta closer and closer to the arena walls, the way his eyes haven't left Vegeta for even a moment, no matter how hard he tries to dart out of view and break that concentration.

_This isn't happening,_ he thinks, in the exact moment that Kakarot suddenly cries out, a fierce, guttural _"Ha!"_ , and hits him so solidly in the jaw that he actually goes soaring backwards.

Kakarot is on him again before Vegeta can even make sense of what just happened; by the time he's growling and gritting his teeth and throwing himself back into the fight, turning his rage and disgust at letting such an obvious, straightforward attack connect into an even fiercer determination, Kakarot has somehow crept into his space again, getting right up in front of Vegeta's face and making direct eye contact for one heavy second before trying for an uppercut that Vegeta only barely dodges with a harsh jerk to the left. 

He digs his feet into the ground, twisting into the hard-packed red dirt, and uses that momentum to kick off solidly, soaring away from Kakarot, breaking the rhythm of the fight for just a moment. Behind him, when he turns, he sees Kakarot hesitating for just a moment, his chest heaving. They make eye contact, and Vegeta watches, wordless, waiting. When Kakarot moves again, there's no warning, only a split second for Vegeta's reflexes to scream at him to twist out of the way of the blow Kakarot aims at his head, and just like that, they descend right back into the back and forth.

Time sometimes seems to slip in fights like this one. Vegeta is aware of a few things: the sweat on his brow, the pulsing of his blood in his ears, and Kakarot, always Kakarot, the ebb and flow of him as they trade blows and dodge around one another and spiral through the air so fast he knows they must be barely visible from the ground. What he's _not_ aware of is exactly how long they've been at this, how many minutes it's been since the last time he stopped moving. Kakarot isn't letting him rest even a second; he's torn between the satisfaction of what is undeniably a good fight, the vicious pride of being taken seriously and tested by an opponent who is, clearly, stronger than anyone had thought to give him credit for, and the dawning horror, growing at the back of his mind and threatening to trip him up and stall his movements, that comes from the idea that they really _are_ evenly matched. That Kakarot — that he might — 

They're so high above the arena that he thinks they might, technically, be out of bounds, if things like that mattered in a duel like this one. Kakarot's eyes are gleaming, his teeth bared in something like a grimace, energy all but crackling around him as he lashes out with a lightning-quick volley of blows. No matter what Vegeta does, no matter how hard he pushes, Kakarot is able to push back, to go just that little bit farther. The frustration between them is undeniably mounting, and through the focused haze of the fight, Vegeta realizes that this can't go on much longer. Not like this.

Unfortunately, he realizes a moment to late that Kakarot has come to the same conclusion. It's only after he sees _that_ — sees, and identifies, the sudden steeling in Kakarot's expression, the way he backs off for just a split second, as though steeling himself — that he sees the trap he's walked right into: Kakarot above him, Vegeta directly between him and the ground. Just enough space between the two of them and the arena floor for momentum and a solid impact. Not enough time, once he puts all the pieces together, to get out of the way, to prevent Kakarot's body from slamming into him, hands wrapping tightly around Vegeta's arms as he's hit with Kakarot's entirely nontrivial bulk.

As they descend, Kakarot meets his eyes, and to Vegeta's surprise, he actually opens his mouth to speak — the first words either of them has said this entire time.

"You shouldn't have done this," he says, and Vegeta only has a moment to be shocked and indignant before Kakarot is flinging him to the ground.

All of the air leaves his body as he impacts the red dirt with a tremendous _crunch_ , and even his reflexes aren't good enough for him to recover from that in time to prevent Kakarot from slamming into him, redoubling the impact before twisting him into a pin. 

It's only after several long, dazed seconds that he even realizes what's happened. Through the ringing in his ears, he can suddenly make out all of the things he'd blocked out during the fight — the crowd in the stands above, the thump of his own heartbeat in his head, Kakarot's heavy, ragged breathing.

Against all odds, Vegeta finds he doesn't even have the mental capacity for rage in that moment. Instead, he just shuts his eyes and lets his forehead rest against the ground, allows the reality of the situation to wash over him with slowly seeping horror.

He's lost the duel. He's _lost,_ meaning — meaning Kakarot now has the right to determine whether or not the match goes forward. Meaning — presumably — that there's no escaping having the idiot as his consort now. But it's worse, worse even than that, and on top of everything else, Vegeta has to grit his teeth against Tarble's voice in his head, when Vegeta had first come to him with this idea: _Just remember, this will be on_ your _head, no matter what the outcome._

Not only is Kakarot going to be his consort, but they're going to be fucking _bondmates._

—

The next few hours pass in something of a haze. Far from the pure, crystalline fury he'd felt at the end of the tournament, Vegeta now finds himself altogether uncertain _what_ he's feeling. He stands sullenly next to his father when King Vegeta descends to clasp Kakarot and his son both firmly by the shoulder and declare Kakarot the winner of their bout, and he turns his face away when, as expected, Kakarot reaffirms that the match should go forward — though the pulse of fury he feels at the defiant little look Kakarot shoots him while he says that _almost_ succeeds at cutting through the quagmire.

He and Kakarot and the rest of the party — King Vegeta and Bardock, as well as Tarble and Raditz — make their way back to the palace from the arena as a group, leaving the rest of the crowd far behind them; Raditz and Bardock are speaking quietly, but everyone else is silent. So silent, in fact, that it's really only when he makes it all the way back to the palace grounds that Vegeta realizes that, one by one, they've all peeled off, until only Kakarot and himself remain.

And, of course, when he casts a quick glance at his intended — he still shudders at the thought, no matter how useless that disgust is now — he finds that Kakarot shows no signs of likewise fucking off and leaving him in peace. Because _that_ would be useful, and of course the idiot couldn't possibly do something like that. He's looking at Vegeta steadily, quietly, standing just far enough back to avoid raising his hackles but certainly close enough to make it clear he intends for them to — what? To _talk_? Is he hoping for some sort of heart-to-heart, after the humiliation he just put Vegeta through, of all things?

He's reminded, with a twist of bitter humor, of the way Kakarot had trailed after him and forced a confrontation following the tournament, too. Maybe the bastard is just predisposed to following people around and annoying them; it certainly seems like it would fit in with what Vegeta knows of his personality.

He'll give the idiot one thing, among all of the disdainful thoughts he's ever had for him: he's fucking _persistent._

Persistent, he thinks, growling, like a bad smell. Like a patch of muck you can't scrub off your boots. Like a fucking infection, or — Vegeta isn't the best at metaphors. _That_ is more his brother's territory. All he knows, really, is that he is very, very angry at his supposed bondmate, and doesn't want to see his stupid face for as long as possible, let alone have a fucking heart-to-heart with him, and why can't Kakarot _see_ that? Is he really that stupid? Why would he come out here in the first place, why doesn't he have the since to leave well enough alone, and _why_ — _how —_ had he been able to defeat Vegeta in a fair fight, without even having the good grace to end the thing broken, beaten, and bruised?

Vegeta finally stops walking, gritting his teeth and hunching his shoulders against the onslaught that he's sure is waiting just around the corner. Sure enough, there are only a few moments of stillness left after he comes to a halt before Kakarot begins to speak.

"You know, I haven't had that much fun fighting someone in — probably ever," he says, with the magnanimous tone of someone who thinks he's making a peace offering. Vegeta snorts, but doesn't otherwise respond. As though a little flattery is all it will take to mollify him right now.

After a moment, Kakarot tries again: "Look, I know this wasn't what you wanted, but you were the one who challenged _me,"_ he says, sounding a little more defensive now. "If you were going to be so upset about it, you could have just — I dunno. Not done that, I guess?"

Vegeta doesn't exactly need a reminder of _that_ , he thinks, grinding his teeth, his eyes narrowing in a glare even though he's still facing away from Kakarot. That's almost the worst part of all of this, really. His pride is torn two ways, at present: on the one hand, as Kakarot had so charmingly pointed out just a moment ago, he was the one who had issued the challenge, after all. It would be a blow to his pride to try to back out _now,_ after everything, even if such a thing were possible; he'd be left reluctantly bearing the consequences of his actions even if there were another option, which of course there isn't. But B)... he fucking _lost._ There's no greater blow to his pride than that. 

Behind him, Kakarot makes a frustrated little noise. "You don't have to keep acting like I'm worth so much less than you," he snaps; Vegeta can hear him shuffling in the dirt restlessly. "Would you at least — would you _look_ at me?"

He realizes what's about to happen a split second before Kakarot grabs his shoulder. That instant isn't enough time to side step the touch altogether, but Vegeta does manage to almost instantly spin around and smack Kakarot's hand away, his entire face twisted in a scowl as he shoves the idiot _hard_ , hard enough that Kakarot actually stumbles back several steps.

"Don't fucking touch what isn't yours," Vegeta snarls at him, and Kakarot has the gall to blink at him in utter shock, marred only slightly by anger and frustration of his own. What was he expecting? Did he think, not that he'd won the fight, now that they're going to be _bondmates_ , that Vegeta would suddenly be thrilled to pieces about the situation, and instantly fall all over him? Did he think he was going to show off somehow, prove his worth, as though he's actually earned a place at Vegeta's side? They may be tied together — well and truly stuck now, no matter how much Vegeta wishes that weren't the case — but that changes _nothing,_ and as he watches, he can see the realization of that fact slowly dawning on Kakarot's face.

For a moment, he almost thinks that he's gotten lucky, and managed to hit on the right chord to end this farcical conversation, that maybe he can go on his way and actually stand some chance of working out some of the frustration still buzzing under his skin like lightning. But, of course, Kakarot could never make it that easy for him — _that_ might almost be useful, or appealing. Instead of backing down, instead of recognizing that Vegeta's far from willing to speak to him, interact with him, or be near him at the moment, he frowns deeply, and Vegeta watches almost disbelievingly as his face is twisted into a slowly-deepening scowl.

"Look, _your highness,_ " Kakarot snaps, his voice suddenly a whole lot lower and growlier than it had been only moments before — and Vegeta doesn't miss, either, that this is maybe the first time the idiot's actually used anything resembling a proper title when referring to him, and he's throwing it at him like it's an _insult_. "I still don't know what I even really did wrong in the first place — all I did was fight in your stupid tournament. But none of that even matters any more. There's no getting out of this now, for either of us, and — and if you didn't—" He hesitates for a moment, stumbling over his words; there's a brief instant where his expression seems to crack open, his eyes wary and vulnerable. Then he seems to steel himself, taking a deep breath before he grits his teeth and says, "If you didn't want this, then you shouldn't have been the one to suggest the bondmating anyway, because — because that's _serious._ That _means_ something."

Vegeta finds he can do nothing but stare, shocked to silence, because — well, because how can Kakarot _still_ be holding onto ideas like that? After all of this?

"Not for me," he snarls after a moment, once he's finally got enough air in his lungs to speak again. He is incandescent, though Kakarot doesn't flinch away from the fury that Vegeta is shaking with. "Not for _this."_

There's a moment's pause, in which Kakarot seems to study him. Vegeta doesn't have the slightest idea what he could be looking for, or whether or not he finds it. All that's evident to him is that, eventually, Kakarot lowers his gaze, turning just slightly so that his body is angled away.

"Well, whatever you wanted to happen, or whatever you were trying to do," Kakarot mumbles, "you shouldn't have lost if it meant so much to you."

"You—" Vegeta starts to spit, taken aback despite everything, but Kakarot cuts him off.

"We're bondmates now," he says, crossing his arms. "Or, well, we will be. That's... all there is to it."

He makes it sound so simple, Vegeta thinks, thunderstruck — but even more than that, he sounds so damnably _matter-of-fact_ about it. Clearly _Kakarot_ won't be losing any sleep about what this means for the legacy of the house of Vegeta.

"What do you get out of this?" Vegeta asks him, narrowing his eyes; Kakarot is still turned away, not meeting his eyes, but it's not as though he can so easily hide the rest of his body language. The way his shoulders hunch when Vegeta speaks is painfully obvious, as is the anxious lashing of his tail. "Why are _you_ so determined to keep up this farce? I plainly hate you. Do you just enjoy seeing me angry? Is this some kind of glory-seeking? What?" 

Kakarot doesn't really seem like he's here because he's seeking glory — at least, not any kind of glory other than glory in battle — or riches, or status, or like he's nearly clever enough to have come up with any kind of plot or plan, for that matter. But there has to be _something_ , some reason. Even if he'd only entered the tournament originally to prove he was the strongest, as he claims, why has he stuck around _now?_ Why didn't he take the opportunity of winning the bondmating duel to fuck right off? He'd have had every right to do so, after all. And instead, he's bound them even more tightly together. _Why?_ Vegeta can't make sense of it. 

There's a heavy moment. "I don't know," Kakarot says, but Vegeta senses he's lying. Then, after another pause, he meets Vegeta's eyes again at long last and adds, a little defiantly, "I have my pride too, y'know? Just because I don't go around all high and mighty all the time doesn't mean I don't—" He cuts himself off, and Vegeta doesn't bother pushing it; it's not as though he cares enough to turn this into a gods-damned therapy session. 

The rage bubbling between them starts to slowly fizzle out at the longer they stand there, neither one of them speaking. The situation is far from resolved, of course — as far as Vegeta's concerned, there is no resolving it. But he's not going to stand around here all night like a blithering idiot, waiting patiently for Kakarot to tell him how he _feels_. He has better things to do.

"There's no sense in belaboring things now," he mutters. "Let's just be done with it." He pauses, narrowing his eyes, and pins Kakarot with a glare. "I hope I don't even have to tell you not to expect my time or attention."

Kakarot hesitates. Eventually, he says, "I'm interested in training, and getting stronger. Anything outside of that doesn't matter." 

But for the second time in the span of only a few minutes, Vegeta realizes that Kakarot is lying — though he doesn't have much idea why, or what he might be trying to conceal.

Regardless, he thinks as he turns away without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, that doesn't matter now. What matters is that they're on more or less the same page; if he's going to survive this farcical _relationship_ , he's going to need to learn how to compartmentalize and spend no more time thinking about it than he absolutely must. Vegeta nods, once, and turns away, and resolves to put the whole situation from his mind for the time being, if he possibly can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *glances at title of fic* Yeah, Vegeta, ignore it until it goes away. That'll go well.


	4. Chapter 4

"We gather in the sight of Yilos, Ihshi, and Danani..."

Vegeta allows his eyes to slip closed for just a moment, his teeth grinding silently. The air is thick with the scent of incense, and the room is dark, and, given that he and Kakarot are separated from the rest of the crowd by a good several yards, if he ignores the high priest droning on in the background, he could almost pretend that they're alone.

Not that he wants to be alone with the idiot — he's done everything he possibly can to avoid it up to this point — but, well. Alone with Kakarot would still be better than kneeling next to Kakarot here in the temple of Danani, the god of unity, surrounded by their fathers, their brothers, and, of course, High Priest Rutaba himself.

In theory, this is a private affair; even their respective sires and brothers are only here to serve as witnesses, and the priest, of course, is here to call upon the favor of the gods, blessing their bondmating and ensuring that the ceremony proceeds as it is supposed to. Vegeta almost wonders if he won't prefer the coronation to this quiet, stiff-necked business. _That_ will be more similar to the tournament — riotous, a celebration. Even if they won't be celebrating anything _he_ thinks is particularly wonderful, Kakarot's official introduction as prince consort will at least be something a little less tense than _this_. Vegeta truly never thought he'd see the day where _he_ of all people would be wishing for a high-profile public event instead of one that is theoretically quiet, discreet, and to the point, but then, Kakarot truly has gone out of his way to turn everything upside down in the few miserable weeks he's been a part of Vegeta's life.

The fact that this part of the proceedings has come so much sooner than the coronation is one part due to the more emotional nature of bondmating when compared to an official arrangement — theoretically, that is — and one part due to the fact that Kakarot is nowhere near ready to take up his new title yet. That, at least, Vegeta can feel a sort of vicious vindication about. He's far from surprised that it's taking the moron quite some time to get up to speed with the sorts of things which are required of a royal consort. Etiquette is one thing — Kakarot still barely remembers to bow to the king half the time — but that, at least, could be rushed through, if for some reason they wanted to do so. But the rest of it, correcting Kakarot's miserable understanding of topics like history, politics, economics, governance — all the things which actually go into _running_ a planet like Vegetasei, duties he won't be allowed to skive off just because he's the consort or, for that matter, because he's some third-class bumpkin — _that_ neither King Vegeta nor his son will willingly look past.

But the bondmating couldn't be so easily pushed off, not without a good, solid reason to wait; tradition actually would have dictated that they hold this ceremony immediately after the duel, though they'd already established long before going into the fight that _that_ would certainly not be happening, not given the extra level of pomp and circumstance that surrounds the royal family at all times. And so, here they are — here _Vegeta_ is, kneeling with his head bowed, hands fisted over his thighs, once again wrapped up in gold and fine fabrics and fragile, glittering things, squeezing his eyes shut tight and waiting for this to all be _over_.

Here, too, is Kakarot, right beside him and similarly bedecked; no matter how hard Vegeta tries to ignore him, the bastard keeps twitching and shifting around, not quite able to keep still. If they weren't quite literally in the middle of the ceremony, he would snap at Kakarot, or maybe just shove him to the ground, but interrupting is, unfortunately, a surefire way to make this take even longer than it already is.

"And now, I call upon the two who stand before you, Lord Danani, and seek your blessing on the eve of their bondmating," the priest intones, lowering his body all the way to the floor; everyone else follows his lead, including Vegeta and Kakarot. Kakarot, in fact, is one of the first to move, and he presses himself flush to the stone beneath them. Vegeta's hit with the realization that he really is taking this seriously.

"Prince Vegeta, fourth heir of the ruling house of Vegeta, son of his majesty the King, Vegeta III," the priest continues, and then, after a brief pause, "...and Kakarot, son of Bardock." Even in the midst of all of this ceremony, Vegeta smirks at the contrast. "On behalf of these, your children, I ask for your consideration, Lord Danani. May they be tied tightly together in your sight."

This part, Vegeta had had to rehearse a little, though he's told that many of the lower-classes will have learned these words in childhood, through folklore and the occasional attendance of a bondmating of close family members. Without raising themselves from the ground even slightly, he and Kakarot say as one, "In your sight, Lord Danani."

"Esu tie gettesel va," Vegeta says, voice booming through the room, louder, lower, harsher than the priest's had been, especially now that it's not twined together with Kakarot's somewhat softer tone. _You belong to me._

_"_ Epa gettesa va esu," Kakarot echoes. _I belong to you_.

Now there is a moment of silence, because this — this is the part that he's struggled with. The part which, despite everything, a part of Vegeta still wants to rebel against. Even though he can't, he knows he can't, and even though for the most part he doesn't even want to — if nothing else, it wouldn't be worth the consequences, and therefore it would be a terrible decision, tactically speaking — part of him still _burns_ to bolt upright, shriek his rage to the stars above, blast his way out of this stupid place—

He grits his teeth.

"Epa gettesa va esu," he says. His voice does not shake.

"Esu tie gettesel va," Kakarot confirms, and damn him — _damn_ him, because there's something unknowable in his tone, and Vegeta would kill to see the look on his face in this moment.

"And therefore let them be joined..." the priest continues, and Vegeta tunes out again, now that his own part is done. All there is left is to remain bowed, with his face pressed into the fucking dirt, and wait for this to end.

Finally, finally, _finally,_ what seems like an eon later, the priest says, "And in the name of Yilos, Ihshi, and Danani, it is done," and with very careful control, Vegeta straightens his spine slowly rather than jerking immediately upright. When he can finally turn and get a good look at Kakarot, he's somewhat surprised to find that he looks almost dazed. For an instant, he wonders incredulously if the idiot had actually fallen _asleep_ during their own gods-damned bondmating ceremony, but, he realizes after an additional moment's observation, that isn't the case at all. Kakarot isn't rubbing sleep from his eyes, he isn't yawning; he looks... shaken, somehow. Despite himself, Vegeta feels something uncomfortable clench in his stomach, and he looks away.

It's as though some sort of spell has broken, and the rest of those assembled — the king, Bardock, Tarble, Raditz, and the priest — who have all been some combination of still, silent, and solemn throughout this entire affair, are suddenly cut free from those constraints. They all seem to relax somewhat, even King Vegeta, and they gather together at the back of the room, speaking in low voices.

None of them come any closer to Vegeta or Kakarot, though, instead leaving them by themselves in the center of the temple floor. Vegeta certainly can't be bothered to go over to them and make small talk, either; at least Kakarot is being quiet. For once, that makes his company preferable to everyone else's.

Then again, Kakarot's quietness is a bit discomfiting, really. It's entirely out of character, for one thing, and it makes Vegeta narrow his eyes in suspicion just the tiniest bit. It only takes a quick look at him to see that Kararot isn't exactly comfortable at the moment, though that still leaves the question of _why_. Vegeta wouldn't normally spend so much as a second trying to parse out Kakarot's emotions, but this one isn't exactly hard to guess, in no small part because he himself is feeling the same emotions that he sees reflected in Kakarot's eyes. The bondmating vows, after all, are a dedication of pure devotion, of a deep and abiding commitment to another person. Even to Vegeta, who has never really thought about the bondmating process with any kind of intention toward engaging in it _himself_ , it feels a little... well, a little wrong. These kinds of vows aren't meant for farces like the one he and Kakarot find themselves tangled in, aren't intended to be used for transactional political arrangements. He's essentially swearing fealty, and the thought of giving that kind of vow to _anyone_ makes his blood curdle, but especially to someone he thinks as little of as Kakarot.

But, of course, the entire situation makes him burn with fury; it's not as though he didn't _already_ know that. This whole situation is wrong, it's _fucked_ , it's ridiculous, but here they are.

With a glance to the rest of the group still gathered at the back of the room — in particular, the priest, for whom he feels he must put up at least some semblance of a charade that this is a real, legitimate bondmating between two people who truly do feel the sort of devotion that he and Kakarot have just sworn to — Vegeta leans in, slowly, as though to brush a kiss against the side of Kakarot's face. His erstwhile consort freezes as Vegeta's lips hover just near his ear, their shoulders brushing.

"This means nothing," Vegeta whispers, after only the barest moment's hesitation. He's telling himself almost as much as he's telling Kakarot, reminding both of them of things that might otherwise be clouded by the heady smoke of the incense burners clouding around the room, by the priest's ritual solemnity and the words they've both said in front of all the gods.

He feels Kakarot tense, hears the way his breath catches. They're standing so close that he could almost swear he feels Kakarot's heart skip a beat. 

"I know," his bondmate whispers after a moment. His voice is stiff, and a glance up to meet his eyes shows that they're flickering like steel in the low light.

"Ensure that you don't forget," Vegeta tells him, and slowly leans back.

—

There's enough work to be done in preparation for Kakarot's coronation that the entire palace is buzzing, and it's easier than ever for the two of them to avoid one another, thank the gods. Everyone has a part to play, and Vegeta's is largely to try to avoid being _too_ obvious about the fact that his bondmate and soon-to-be consort is one of the more irritating, frustrating people he's ever met, which luckily coincides fairly well with doing everything in his power to avoid being around Kakarot for longer than a few moments at a stretch.

Around them — and forming a solid wall of hustle and bustle between them — is everything from the actual logistical preparation for the coronation itself, as well as the feasting, duels, and general revelry which will follow, to the more abstract task of preparing Kakarot for his new role in the royal family. This is even more of an effort for him, of course, than it would have been for most others in his position, or certainly most of those who would've actually been _expected_ to be in Kakarot's place, but there would have been some level of preparation necessary for anyone, regardless of their birth and status. There is, after all, still a line between the ruling family and the elite warriors, and crossing that line requires an understanding of the additional rules, responsibilities, and ramifications that lie beyond it.

But Kakarot isn't starting from a position as an elite warrior; he is starting from essentially nothing. Vegeta is only glad that he's not expected to be personally involved with the task of bringing him up to speed. He doesn't doubt that the two of them would have come to blows within a few minutes of the first lesson if that were the case, and _that_ certainly wouldn't have gone over well with his father, or the rest of the court, for that matter. However, Vegeta is uncomfortably aware that Kakarot's intelligence (or lack there of) and his level of preparedness to take up his duties _will_ reflect back on Vegeta when it comes time for Kakarot to take up his position properly, and as the days creep by, the coronation drawing closer and closer with each moonrise, his position on the situation shifts from smug amusement at watching Kakarot struggle to irritation and even worry.

He doesn't need to be told to know that Kakarot is one of the most difficult students the royal tutors and advisors have ever faced.

Vegeta hears him, from time to time, when they cross paths in the palace's labyrinthine halls, chattering amiably with everyone from guards to courtiers to the king himself. He treats them all with the same horrifically cheerful attitude, regardless of who it is he's speaking to, and he's equally indiscriminate when it comes to asking them to spar with him. 

In other words, his etiquette and his grasp of propriety remain absolutely abysmal. Vegeta watches him across the great banquet table when his father calls them all together for meals, a much more regular occurrence while they're all preparing for the coronation than it has ever been before, and stares with increasing disbelief as every passing day does nothing to smooth down Kakarot's copious rough edges. Kakarot's only saving grace, he supposes, is that as Prince Consort, he'll rank more highly than anyone other than the king or Vegeta himself, and, therefore, he _does_ have a lot of leeway. But it certainly doesn't paint him — and, by extension, Vegeta — in a good light that he comes across as a third-class hick. 

And there are far more pressing issues than Kakarot's unrefined manners. He _still_ has little to no knowledge of history, politics, intergalactic relations... He hardly seems to _care_ , breezily telling Tarble across the dinner table one night that he really doesn't understand what all the fuss is about, anyway, and aren't there better ways to learn than spending all day bent over some dusty old books in the library? 

"Those _dusty old books_ are records of our ancestors' earliest conquests," Vegeta snaps at him before Tarble can respond. "They're more valuable than anything you've laid your hands on in your entire life."

But Kakarot just shrugs. "I guess," he says, sounding thoroughly unbothered, and turns back to Tarble as though Vegeta hasn't spoken at all.

It seems to mean nothing to him that all of this knowledge people are busily trying to cram into his ungrateful skull will be critical to his ability to perform his duties following the coronation, which is drawing ever closer. In fact, it seems to mean nothing to him that he will _have_ duties, or, at least, he seems entirely convinced that he'll be able to argue his way out of them somehow, and spend his days training and fighting instead. And yet even _that_ isn't the worst of it — a consort who's completely incapable of performing his duties isn't even the worst possible consequence of this ridiculous situation.

It really comes as no surprise, given how shocked Kakarot had been at the consequences of his entry into the tournament, to discover that he has no grasp of politics whatsoever. Slightly more shocking than his lack of understanding around class politics and the larger spheres of influence in Saiyan society, however, is the realization that Kakarot has no idea that politics on the smaller scale exists at all.

—

Vegeta is making his way purposefully through the purpose, steeling himself for another few hours of listening to a selection of his father's advisors drone at him about nothing of any real importance in one of the stuffy, airless council rooms, when he hears a laugh that he recognizes all to well. Kakarot's giggle doesn't grate on his nerves any less for being directed at someone else, and Vegeta grits his teeth at the sound, suppressing an urge to turn and walk in another direction just to get away. It's not as though it will matter if he keeps walking this way, after all — Kakarot isn't just standing in the hallway, he seems to be in one of the adjoining rooms. There's every chance he won't even notice Vegeta passing by, or that he'll choose to ignore him even if he does.

It's only as he passes the room in question does it occur to him to wonder who Kakarot is with — and, indeed, it's only upon catching sight of her that he bothers to think about why Kakarot would be talking to someone down this hallway at all, rather than lurking around the training arena as he tends to do whenever the King or Tarble or one of the advisors doesn't have him shackled to a chair in an attempt to drill knowledge into his thick skull.

Regardless, he recognizes Kakarot's companion instantly, and freezes for half a moment outside the doorway as he examines her through narrowed eyes. General Okora is, by his estimation, among the more trustworthy of his father's generals, but that doesn't mean, of course, that she and the king always see eye-to-eye, just that Vegeta is relatively certain she isn't interested in putting a knife in his father's back — or his own, for that matter. It takes only a few seconds of mental calculation to determine that she _probably_ hasn't lured Kakarot to this random room off of this random hallway in order to assassinate him, or something, and therefore he fully intends to ignore them — it's not as though he doesn't have better things to be doing. He's turning to leave, even, but then he catches a snatch of what Okora is saying to Kakarot, and instead he pauses, frowning.

"—really, more troops in the Renia sector is the most practical course of action," the general is saying, her normal commanding tones softened to something a little more friendly, a little more approachable. 

"But then why haven't you told that to the king?" Kakarot asks, sounding politely baffled. "I mean, it would be his decision, right?"

General Okora laughs delicately. "Oh, believe me, King Vegeta has heard my opinion before. But perhaps, Lord Kakarot, if _you_ were to speak to him—"

Vegeta chooses that moment to intervene. Calling the idiot _Lord_ Kakarot is laying it on awfully thick, after all. He's not fucking coronated yet; he's not lord of anything for another two weeks, and thank the gods for that.

"Kakarot," he says sharply, then forces himself to soften his tone slightly when Okora turns to face him, her face carefully schooled into deference and pleased surprise. It wouldn't do to let her know how pissed off he is at his bondmate in this moment. "There you are."

"Oh, hi, Vegeta," Kakarot replies, sounding a little uncertain. He glances between Okora and Vegeta for a moment, but his eyes seem to stick on Vegeta's expression, his own eyebrows creeping slowly up towards his hairline. Vegeta fights an urge to grind his teeth; Kakarot could at _least_ have the tact to not act like Vegeta smiling tightly at him is the strangest thing he's ever seen.

"Prince Vegeta," Okora says, inclining her head to him. He returns the gesture after a half-second's pause, just enough to make her uneasy, hopefully. "How fortuitous to meet you here. You see, as I was just telling Lord Kakarot—"

"I'm already running late for a council meeting, General," Vegeta cuts her off. Then he turns to Kakarot, once again softening his tone ever so slightly, no matter how much it irritates him to have to do so. "I was hoping you could accompany me."

Kakarot blinks at him in obvious, goggling shock for a moment, but, thank Yilos below, he nods agreeably enough, turning to wave farewell to Okora as he makes his way to Vegeta's side. "Uh, see you later, General! Maybe we can spar sometime."

Vegeta waits until Okora is well out of earshot and they've made several turns down winding passageways before he reaches out to grab Kakarot around the bicep, dragging him into an alcove just off the hallway leading toward the council rooms.

"What the — hey!" Kakarot complains, snatching his arm away, but Vegeta just snarls up at him.

"I wouldn't think it was possible for you to surprise me with your stupidity anymore at this point, but here we are," he snaps, crossing his arms across his chest. "Just _what_ did you think you were doing back there?"

Kakarot looks entirely baffled, damn him, his eyes wide as saucers. "What are you—? We were just _talking!_ I thought you all _wanted_ me to learn more about current events and stuff. General Okora was telling me about—"

"I know what she was telling you about," Vegeta cuts him off. " _You_ are the one who doesn't understand what was happening in that conversation, not me."

"What's that supposed to—"

Vegeta sighs explosively, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, before cutting Kakarot off again. "Do you not _at all_ realize why she would ask you to talk to the king about something?" He wants to ask something along the lines of _Are you_ really _this dense?_ , but he already knows the answer to that.

"Well, I—" Kakarot fumbles, baffled. "I don't know, I guess she hasn't had the chance to talk to him lately?"

"Hardly," Vegeta says, snorting. "Okora is in regular meetings with my father, at least weekly, and she's highly ranked enough to have an audience with him more or less as often as she wants. Try again."

"I..." There's a pause, Kakarot frowning as his brows furrow. Vegeta is slightly — _very_ slightly — mollified by the fact that he really does appear to be trying to understand the situation. Of course, that pales in comparison to how irritated he is about the fact that Kakarot is only just _now_ realizing that he has a role to play in the interpersonal politics of the palace, but it's something, at least. "I guess maybe she thinks he'll listen to me?"

"Very good," Vegeta mocks, patting Kakarot on the head as though he were a cub. Kakarot bats his hand away, scowling. "You really _do_ have a brain in that skull. I was starting to wonder."

"But—" Kakarot says, clearly floundering. "But the king is the king, right? So — he gets the final say, and I don't think _I'm_ gonna change his mind if he already made a decision. And if he's in charge, then what does it matter anyway?"

Vegeta grinds his teeth, fighting the urge to drag Kakarot down to the training grounds by his tail and try to _beat_ some sense into him. "It _matters_ because, while my father's decisions are final, he can still be influenced. And if the rest of his generals don't agree with a decision, they can make sure it doesn't work out as he intends it to." He snorts. "You're lucky that Okora is mostly harmless — she's right about the Renia sector, for one thing; I don't know what my father is thinking not listening to her. But the majority of the council are _not_ harmless. And if you let them turn you into some sort of tool to use against my father — against _me_ — I won't hesitate to get rid of the threat." 

Kakarot says nothing for a long moment, his eyes downcast. Vegeta snarls. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Do you actually want me at this meeting, or should I go?" Kakarot asks, in lieu of an actual response. Vegeta forces himself to take several long, deep breaths before responding — they're too close to the council rooms for him to start shouting. Someone would absolutely hear.

After a long moment, he mutters, "You're here now, you might as well attend. Maybe there will be a miracle, and some of what you hear will actually sink into your thick skull." He levels a threatening finger just under Kakarot's chin, though, his eyes narrowing. "But _don't_ speak."

And with that, he leaves before Kakarot can have a chance to respond, his cape swishing behind him as he leaves the little alcove. He doesn't pay any attention to whether or not Kakarot is following him; either he'll come, and Vegeta will at least know he isn't letting members of court bend him to their own purposes with a smile and a laugh, or he'll go somewhere else, and Vegeta won't have to spend the next hour sitting next to him. Either way, he trusts he's made his point.

—

As much as Kakarot's many, many failings and deficiencies might irritate him, however, even Vegeta is forced to grudgingly admit that there are a few areas where he manages to be... passable. Of course, those almost make Vegeta angrier than the things Kakarot is terrible at — it's uncomfortable to have to admit to his bondmate's redeeming qualities, even if only in the privacy of his mind. Still, he hasn't survived to adulthood and made a name for himself as one of the most formidable Saiyan warriors ever born by refusing to acknowledge reality when it's right in front of him.

It has been well-proven already that Kakarot is a brilliant fighter; that, Vegeta would have acknowledged from the first time he'd laid eyes on him, from the way he'd systematically demolished his opponents in the tournament. However, he's uncomfortably surprised to discover that Kakarot's talent in the arena seems to translate to an intuitive knowledge of tactics. Oh, he isn't used to thinking in terms of squads or battalions, and certainly not in terms of fleets — _that_ is painfully obvious when, half the time, his solution to the tactical questions King Vegeta poses to him across the banquet table is "Well, I'll just go in and take care of them, I guess." Kakarot may be powerful, to say the least, but no fighter can take down an entire army on his own, a lesson Vegeta himself had had to learn in his youth. Kakarot doesn't seem to have made his peace with that yet, and he will inevitably have to adapt to strategizing at a large scale, now that he's soared upward in the ranks virtually overnight.

In one-on-one or small-group scenarios, though, Vegeta is shocked to discover a ruthless cunning that seems completely at odds with Kakarot's usual cheerful idiocy. He has an intuitive understanding of how to use the environment, his opponent's weaknesses, and his own body to his maximum advantage, and it's... almost disconcerting. Vegeta tries his hardest not to take notice of any of it, steadfastly ignoring any conversation between Tarble and Kakarot and the king as he keeps his head down at mealtimes and departs as soon as he reasonably can, but it's impossible, really, not to notice the way Kakarot lights up while he works through imagined scenarios, his eyes singing with an all-too-familiar delight at the thought of a well-fought battle.

And, even more disconcertingly, there is the fact that Kakarot seems to be quickly winding the entire palace around the tip of his tail. He doesn't seem to be improving noticeably in his understanding of politics in the traditional sense, but as the eve of the coronation draws closer and closer, Vegeta notices with no small amount of horror that Kakarot seems to be disturbingly good at getting people to like him. Personally, he can't understand it — Kakarot has utterly failed to have such an effect on _him_ — and that makes it all the more frightening. He doesn't like feeling that there may be a threat at his back that he doesn't understand.

Kakarot is... disarming, he supposes, and charming, too, in his own stupid way. But surely that shouldn't be enough. Surely his guileless, dimpled smiles and his easy laughter shouldn't be enough that, by the time the coronation is upon them, even King Vegeta has visibly warmed to him. He's certainly made friends with Tarble, too, and even, Vegeta realizes as the days creep by, won himself a few allies amongst the council of generals as well. It isn't just General Okora, though Vegeta does catch Kakarot speaking to her several more times after that first encounter; old General Fennle seems to have taken to tutoring Kakarot in the game of _vesho_ in the evenings, and Vegeta catches sight of Kakarot sparring with General Cauri more than once, even though he'd beaten the man soundly in the tournament. It's utterly ridiculous. It's as though Kakarot needs only smile at anyone in the palace — and perhaps beat them into the ground a few times — and they all fall over themselves to spend time with him. 

In fact, the only person it seems that Kakarot _hasn't_ won over is his bondmate.

—

Kakarot's coronation is the first celebration of its kind since Tarble's, and the first of its size and splendor since Vegeta's. It's befitting of the crown prince's consort that he be treated with as much respect and revelry as Vegeta himself had been, after all. 

Vegeta had obviously been more than aware of all of this going into the event, but, gritting his teeth as he tries to focus on the ceremony itself in an effort to prevent himself from exploding in irritation at all of the _rest_ of it, he finds that that sort of foreknowledge hasn't helped much, in this case. 

There are a few similarities between the coronation and the bondmating ceremony. Vegeta and Kakarot stand apart from the rest of the crowd, for one thing, and their families are there, both of their fathers in formal armor, Tarble in the robes that mark him as a scholar and strategist, and Raditz in what must be his nicest breastplate. That, however, is more or less where the similarities end. There is no priest presiding over this ceremony, since this is a mortal affair, not something tied to the gods. And they aren't in some quiet, dimly-lit temple, secluded from everyone except those who are closest to them. 

Instead, they stand at the head of the throne room, which is packed to bursting with a crowd of cheering, stomping Saiyans. The ceremony is still underway, and already the celebrations have begun, riotous music and shouting and even friendly duels in the corners of the room. And somehow one of the clearest linking factors — Kakarot himself — is the most different of all.

Vegeta finds, to his disgust, that he can't help but look over at Kakarot over and over and over again throughout the entire ceremony, his eyes catching and sticking on the idiot's grinning face no matter how hard he tries to focus on _anything_ else. Still, it can't be helped. If he didn't know beyond the shadow of a doubt that this is the same Kakarot he's been shackled to for nearly a month now, he would swear that the man standing next to him is someone else, someone who looks entirely at home glimmering in gold and blue gemstones and lush, luxurious robes, with the crest of House Vegeta freshly inked on his bicep, proudly framed by a curling gold armband. It can't be — it _shouldn't_ be — possible that this really is the same man, but Vegeta knows it's true, knows it just as certainly as he knows that this is truly the last nail in the coffin, the last link in the chain that will bind him to Kakarot to permanently.

Something starts to stir deep in his gut, and he has to shut his eyes for a moment and look away. The noise doesn't dissipate, and in fact it only seems to get louder in the absence of visual stimuli. Vegeta focuses on that, the crush of sound, and uses it to force any and all thoughts out of his mind.

When he opens his eyes once more, the stirring in his gut has turned into a twist of disgust. He sneers, ducking his head slightly to keep the expression just barely out of sight of the crowd, and doesn't look at Kakarot again until the whole affair is over.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count went up because I ended up splitting this chapter -- the second half is already completely written, it just needs a last read-through. I'll try to post it tomorrow or the next day!

Vegeta wakes well before the sun is above the horizon and dresses in silence, his expression already set into the hard, cold lines it will carry throughout the day. Behind him, Kakarot slumbers on, completely undisturbed; Vegeta has no idea when he'll rise, or what his morning routine is like, because he has done everything in his power to avoid learning those things. In the week since Kakarot's coronation, Vegeta has worked very hard to ensure that the lines between them don't crumble or fade, regardless of the fact that they now share a bed, and that starts here, in the predawn light.

For the most part, Vegeta's daily routine remains unchanged now from what it had been before Kakarot ever stumbled into his life, which is a small relief, at least. Once he's left his rooms, it's easy enough to settle into the familiar motions, at least for a little while. There are, as always, reports to review, meetings to attend, matters to discuss — and when those things run out, there's always his own training to keep up with.

It's this last part which has the most potential for trouble, or, at least, for Kakarot-shaped trouble. After all, if he's likely to find Kakarot anywhere, it's the training grounds, and already there have been several days in which Vegeta has arrived to find evidence that Kakarot had only _just_ left, perhaps mere moments before, and one or two times when he has been the one to catch wind of Kakarot drawing nearer and left as quickly as possible in order to avoid running into him.

It's not as though he doesn't know that this can't go on forever. Like it or not, he and Kakarot will eventually have to come to _some_ sort of a détente — in order to present a united front, for one thing, and also for... more personal matters. The only reason for the tournament, for any of this, is the production of strong heirs, and if Vegeta and Kakarot continue to avoid each other as effectively as they have been these past few days, there certainly aren't going to be any cubs running around.

And there is something else, too, one other reason, which Vegeta only allows himself to think about when he is completely alone, as he is now, striding down empty hallways as the sun struggles to rise on his way to his first appointment for the day. He stops for just a moment, pausing in front of a window to cast a glance over the capital city, laid out beneath the palace and fading off into the horizon, just starting to move again after the quiet and stillness of a long, cold night.

The first rays of sun break over the windowsill, warming Vegeta's hand when he briefly rests it against the stone, and he curses himself soundly as he gives in to a brief acknowledgement of the _other_ thing, the piece of this entire puzzle that makes him burn with shame and irritation and other things he doesn't dare to put a name to. When he lets his eyes drift shut, basking in the day's first sunlight, he sees behind them the same image that has haunted him since the coronation: Kakarot, marked with the crest of House Vegeta, smiling in the torchlight, looking around the room with his eyes full of pride.

_As though he has anything to be proud of except his ability to trick his way into power,_ Vegeta thinks, turning away from the window and giving himself a firm shake, but the thought doesn't hold nearly the same power it once would have, and as he continues on his way, he can't quite dislodge that image of Kakarot from his mind, no matter how hard he tries.

—

Of course, the rest of the world has other priorities than indulging Prince Vegeta's frustrating inability to keep unimportant things from his mind, and life does, indeed, go on. 

It takes several weeks before court gossip is willing to move on from the coronation — both from discussion of Kakarot himself, and Vegeta, and how soon they might be expected to start producing heirs (all of which Vegeta steadfastly ignores), but also discussion of the revelry that had surrounded the event, during which all manner of people got up to all manner of sometimes ill-advised things. There are fights to dissect, unexpected one-night stands to whisper about, scandals and arguments and conversations to rehash and process, and all of this can only commence once everyone has recovered from the incredible amount of alcohol consumed during the event, of course. However, most of those topics are relatively harmless, and therefore relatively easy to dispose of; it doesn't take long to work through each one, and even a coronation can only produce so much idle gossip before it eventually fades back into the fabric of normal daily life.

When Vegeta was a cub, he'd imagined that his father spent all his time going from planet to planet fighting for the glory of the Saiyan race, and that was why he was always so busy. Or, at least, he'd thought that surely the king must spend all of his time training to grow stronger, even though he was already the strongest, obviously, because he's the king. The reality is far less exciting, of course, and far more bureaucratic, and Vegeta isn’t even actually _king_ yet. It's especially unfortunate that he doesn't get to do as much destroying as he would like to, because _nothing_ makes him want to crush some heads together quite like being trapped in a meeting with his father's generals.

Not all of them are terrible; some still manage to display the competence which originally earned them their positions. But by and large, Vegeta finds them to be an altogether intolerable bunch. 

He all but sprints from the room after his most recent meeting with Generals Scallio, Totoma, and Onio. How any group of people could make a topic like razing planets so mind-numbingly boring, he really has no idea. And it's not even just boredom, either — it's so gods-damned _frustrating_ to be stuck in a room with these stuffed-shirt old men, knowing he could kick any one of them all the way across the damn planet if he wanted to, and yet being forced to listen to them drone on and on for _hours_ and try to convince him that they know best, even though none of them have seen combat in decades... Knowing that Kakarot had so recently shamed them in the tournament only makes it worse, but it was bad enough already, even before Kakarot blundered his way into Vegeta's life. Even before it became difficult to go longer than a minute without thinking of his stupid, irritating laughter or that idiotic smile, even before he wormed his way into _everything—_

"My Prince?"

Vegeta startles slightly, abruptly realizing he's been walking along aimlessly, completely caught up in his thoughts. He curses himself mentally as he turns; _all_ he needs on top of the ridiculous situation he already finds himself in is to develop a reputation for wandering around the palace caught up in his own head. He only hopes he hasn't been mumbling, or something equally ridiculous.

It's only after he process all of _that_ that he realizes who it is that's called his name: General Onio, one third of the trio that he's only just escaped. Or, at least, he _thought_ he'd escaped; evidently the good general still sees fit to keep Vegeta trapped in his own personal version of hell. He grits his teeth, exhales harshly through his nose, and says, "Yes, what is it?"

The smile Onio favors him with in response is perfectly controlled, carefully bland, and downright oily. Vegeta only just restrains the urge to curl his lip in response. Onio has always been among Vegeta's least favorite members of court; there's something about the man which just sets his teeth on the edge, making the fur on his tail prickle with irritation and, to his chagrin, unease. There's no reason to assume that there's any reason for that unease in this moment, but then, there's no reason to assume that there _isn't_ a reason, either.

"I had hoped to speak to you before our meeting, but there wasn't time," Onio says, which is a thinly-veiled jab at the fact that Vegeta had been late to the meeting in question. 

"Well, you've got your chance now," Vegeta says shortly, trusting his tone will convey the implied _much to my disgust_ to a satisfactory level. 

If he notices Vegeta's attitude, however — and really, there's not much of an _if_ about it, unless the man is suddenly three times stupider even than Vegeta has always taken him for — Onio doesn't acknowledge it, only inclining his head and giving another one of those ridiculous, skin-crawling smiles. 

"Well, it's only been a while since I last had a chance to speak to you in a private setting, sire," Onio says, not showing much of a reaction when Vegeta looks at him with an incredulity that only grows with each word that comes out of the general's mouth. "So _much_ has happened in the past moon."

"Yes," Vegeta says after a long, heavy moment of trying to figure out if this is, in fact, some direct punishment for... he doesn't know which sin, in particular, might have caused this, but he's certainly done enough things in this life that _could_ qualify. "Then again, general, you and I have never been close confidants, so I'm not sure what the hell you're trying to get at here, but I'd appreciate if you _got on with it_."

Onio's face _still_ doesn't betray even a hint of a reaction, and that, frankly, is doing almost as much to piss Vegeta off as the rest of the situation is. If the man would at least have the decency to show that he knows Vegeta's irritated with him, rather than smiling that meaningless smile, that would at least be _something_. But, instead, he only folds his hands in front of himself and inclines his head in a gesture of respect which makes Vegeta grit his teeth.

"Of course, I couldn't hope to claim a position as your trusted confidant," he demurs, and Vegeta outright rolls his eyes. "Still, sire, it would have been impossible not to notice all of the change in your life of late. Much of it has been public, after all."

Vegeta narrows his eyes at that. "Say what you mean, General. And say it quickly."

"I only mean to say," Onio replies, his eyes suddenly taking on a sharp gleam that sets off warning alarms in the back of Vegeta's mind, completely at odds with the rest of the man's demeanor up to this point, "that it would be difficult not to notice how... unprecedented your choice of consort is."

"He wasn't my _choice,_ " Vegeta snaps back on instinct, then immediately curses himself for falling into such an obvious trap. It's _true_ , of course — he _hadn't_ chosen Kakarot, that was the entire point of the tournament. The consort should be chosen on the basis of strength, to produce the strongest possible heir to the throne, and the decision shouldn't be influenced by other factors. Still, his reaction had been too instantaneous and too vehement, and Onio's smile takes on a distinctly more predatory edge.

"Well, that's just it, isn't it, sire?" he says. His tone is completely unchanged, still even and polite, but that pleasant nothingness is now completely at odds with everything else about him. Vegeta furrows his brow and crosses his arms, his tail twitching slightly. 

"Just _what_? Out with it, General. I've already told you to get on with it; stop wasting my time."

"It seems to me, Prince Vegeta, that you've ended up in a situation entirely opposite the one you might have chosen for yourself, had you had that option," Onio says. Vegeta stays silent, partially because it sounds like the man is finally getting down to his actual _point_ , and partially because... well, what he's said so far, at least, is far from untrue. 

Onio pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examines Vegeta for just the briefest second. Then he smiles that same bland smile and says, "I only wish, for your sake, that there was some alternative available."

Vegeta freezes. No. Surely this isn't what he thinks it is. 

"There is no alternative," Vegeta says slowly. "Especially not since Kakarot and I are bondmates."

"Yes," Onio agrees, his tone dripping with regret. "That sort of an arrangement is thought to be unbreakable." His eyes quickly dart away from Vegeta, clearly checking that they're still alone, before flickering back just as fast; if Vegeta weren't hyper-focused on him, he wouldn't even have noticed. Vegeta hasn't missed the way he said bondmatings are _thought_ to be unbreakable, and he certainly doesn't miss what Onio says next: "Still, one can't help but wonder what your reaction would be if there _were_ some other option."

Vegeta only narrowly holds himself back from bursting into incredulous laughter. He doesn't want to give away anything resembling an emotional reaction, but the urge is incredible. Surely Onio can't be serious. Doesn't he think Vegeta has _tried?_ What does he think the bondmating duel _was_ if not an attempt at the only viable alternative? What the hell does he think he's come up with that Vegeta hasn't already considered and discarded? Besides which, Vegeta would have to be stupid — or at least hilariously gullible — to trust _this_ man; in his experience, Onio is just as likely to stab him in the back as he is to actually follow through on anything he's promising. There's every chance that even this offer itself, let alone whatever plan he may or may not have cooked up, is a trick designed to unseat Vegeta somehow.

Still, even amongst all of that, there is a part of him which he can't deny is... Curious. Intrigued. The fact that Onio is even implying that he can somehow end the bondmating, which _really_ shouldn't be possible, has particularly piqued Vegeta's interest. Onio may be as slimy and scheming as they come, but he's not stupid. If he really does have some plan, there's every chance it will work.

And after all, isn't that what Vegeta has wanted since this whole mess started? A way out? Isn't that worth pursuing, even if it means working with someone like Onio to get it?

He can't commit to anything yet, he tells himself firmly, trying to get a handle on the thoughts racing through his mind. That would be stupid on a number of levels — he doesn't want to look _too_ interested for fear of making Onio feel like he has real leverage, and it would be folly to commit to any plan before he knows much about it, especially not one which, no doubt, involves no small amount of subterfuge, given both what Onio's implying he will do and how cagey he's being about the whole affair. So, better to wait, and let Onio approach him again, try to convince him he needs to persuade Vegeta. He'll learn more about whatever he's planning that way, and, besides that, it'll give Vegeta time to figure out just what the hell his opinion on this whole idea actually is. 

"Well," Vegeta says slowly, narrowing his eyes at Onio and trying to appear as aloof and uninterested as possible. "That's a fascinating idea, General, but I don't have time to engage in fantasy at the moment. I'm late for a meeting with my father."

"Of course, sire," Onio says, that same damned smile on his face. "I wouldn't want to keep you."

But Vegeta feels the burn of someone watching him as he turns and strides quickly away — and, sure enough, when he takes a quick glance over his shoulder just before he turns the corner, he sees Onio watching him, his expression blank and unreadable, his eyes bright with something just this side of satisfaction.

—

Try as he might — and he continues to try very, very hard — it's impossible for Vegeta to avoid Kakarot one hundred percent of the time. They sleep in the same room, of course, a prospect which is even more uncomfortable than before now that Vegeta's head is swirling constantly with thoughts of Onio's mysterious offer, what may or may not be possible, and the question of whether he intends to pursue whatever the hell it is the general is offering. And, in a similar vein, they sit across from one another at meals whenever they aren't eating alone, and Vegeta's forced into at least a secondhand account of all of the things Kakarot is doing, the latest thrashing he's given anyone still stupid enough to spar with him on the training grounds, his continuing studies under Tarble as he works to catch up on the education that Vegeta has had a lifetime to obtain.

And then, of course, there are the council meetings. In theory, the king presides over meetings of his council, but the reality is that he's been delegating that dubious honor to Vegeta since the moment it was theoretically feasible to do so. Vegeta very grudgingly must admit that he can't blame him; he fully intends to do the same to his own children when _he's_ king, because no one in their right mind would suffer through one of these atrocities willingly.

Full meetings of the Council of Generals take _hours_ , and Vegeta's been trapped in this one since just after dawn. He's hungry, he's bored, and he's had a headache throbbing in his temples for nearly the entire duration of this shitshow. The meetings typically involve each member of the council giving a report on their command and whatever it is the king has tasked them with, which usually amounts to blustering about how well they're doing despite their difficult circumstances and then arguing for why Vegeta should speak to the king about giving them extra men, supplies, or ships, since they clearly deserve such things more than any of their colleagues. And then whoever had just spoken will sit down, and the next one will get up and give the exact same speech. It's _maddening_ , and in this current meeting, only nine of the twelve generals have spoken. They still, unbelievably, have _three more to go_. Vegeta's always had a famously fiery temper, but these meetings, above all else, really do drive him to absolute fury. When he eventually snaps and murders everyone in the room, his father will have no one to blame but himself, for having put Vegeta to this task in the first place.

And, of course, because the gods clearly hold some sort of grudge against Vegeta which they continue to punish him for in the most vicious and creative of ways, Kakarot is now also a part of the council meetings, since, as Vegeta's consort, they're something of a unit when it comes to their duties and positions, or whatever nonsense reason it was that the king had given when he'd announced that Kakarot would be joining the council meetings from now on. Vegeta's convinced that the _real_ reason is that the king is either pissed off at him or laughing at him; even odds, really, on which of those two it is. Not that it matters — the end result is the same, no matter what the cause may be. And that result is Kakarot making an absolute fool of himself, and, by extension, Vegeta, every time the council convenes.

At present, he looks about three seconds from falling asleep, his head propped up on one hand and his eyes drooping, and while some small part of Vegeta is capable of acknowledging that he certainly understands that feeling — mind-crushingly boring really doesn't even begin to cover it — he'd at least like it if Kakarot could have the good fucking sense to _act_ like he gives half a shit what's going on. Vegeta might hate these stupid meetings, but even he is forced to admit, however grudgingly, that they're important. It's useful to get all of the generals in one room and make sure everyone's on the same page about the status of the fleet and the army as a whole, for one thing, and they're also useful politically, not that he expects Kakarot to care about _that_. 

After a long and momentously pointless monologue, General Fennle bows shortly to Vegeta and moves to sit down. Before anyone else can get up and move things along, Vegeta holds up a hand and says, "We will take a five-minute recess." 

The generals accept this easily enough, and Vegeta takes advantage of the low chatter that breaks out between them to jab Kakarot harshly in the side, just out of sight under the table.

" _Ow!_ Hey!" Kakarot complains, suddenly sitting bolt upright and rubbing the place where Vegeta poked him. "What was that for?"

"At least pretend you care about doing your duty," Vegeta hisses at him, narrowing his eyes and keeping his voice down low enough that he hopefully won't be overheard. "You're an embarrassment."

"Geeze, sorry," Kakarot mutters, still rubbing his side. He looks put out, practically pouting; it's utterly ridiculous. He's acting like a complete child, and though Vegeta can't say such behavior is _surprising_ at this point, it never fails to make his blood boil. "It's just so... _boring_. I have no idea how you do it."

"It's critical for the operations of our military," Vegeta snaps, glaring at him. Then, very grudgingly, he admits, "And I've had years of practice getting through these meetings."

" _Ha!"_ Kakarot says, pointing one accusing finger at him and grinning in the most ridiculous way. 

Vegeta scowls. "What?"

"I _knew_ you thought these meetings were boring," Kakarot replies, his tone entirely too smug. "I bet you're falling asleep, too, you just figured out how to do it with your eyes open."

"Ridiculous," Vegeta scoffs. "Just because _you're_ unable to focus on anything going on around you unless it involves hand-to-hand combat or explosions doesn't mean the rest of us..."

But he trails off, not quite finishing his thought, because Kakarot's attention has shifted to somewhere over Vegeta's right shoulder. He's not paying attention to a word Vegeta's saying anymore, a frown clouding over his usually cheerful face. Vegeta scowls, irritated — he knows by now, obviously, that Kakarot has no manners to speak of, but really, this is just ridiculous — but he can't help his curiosity, and he turns to look where Kakarot is looking, narrowing his eyes.

Generals Cauri, Dilla, and Bergot are bent together in conversation, their voices low enough to blend into the general chatter of the room easily. Vegeta isn't particularly fond of any of them — Dilla least of all; she's a real piece of work — but he can't imagine that Kakarot, of all people, hates any of them enough to be distracted by them on principle alone. But then the sound in the room lulls for just a moment, and Vegeta catches just a hint of what Bergot is saying, and suddenly Kakarot's distraction and his stormy expression are both much, much clearer.

"—well, it's certainly good to have another member of the royal family who stands a chance in a fight, at least," the general is saying, and Vegeta tenses instantly at the words, his teeth baring in a silent snarl. He's instantly aware, however, that his own reaction pales in comparison to Kakarot's; with an uncharacteristically serious expression and a very tense set to his shoulders, Kakarot takes a step away from Vegeta and towards where the three generals are standing, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm sorry?" he says, loud enough to be heard over every other voice in the room, and instantly everything falls into stillness and silence. 

"Oh, Lord Kakarot," Bergot says quickly, though the palpable terror in his voice couldn't be more obvious. It almost makes Vegeta snort with laughter; if the man is going to go around saying shit like that while Vegeta is _in the same room as him_ , he might at least choose not to be a coward about it. Of course, this is far from the first time Vegeta has overheard veiled references to the fact that Tarble is somewhat less than a talented warrior, or even commentary on his father, or _himself_ , coming from people who really ought to be smarter than to speak when he's in the room. He usually chooses to ignore it, saving it up to use as ammunition in the future if necessary, especially if the jibe isn't aimed at him directly... But, on the other hand, he can't deny that watching the way Bergot looks about ready to piss himself right now, staring at Kakarot as if he's Melis himself given flesh, come to rain death upon his enemies, is pretty fucking entertaining.

"I-I assure you, sire, you must have completely misunderstood me," Bergot says, bowing his chin deeply in an indication of respect, though it mostly just looks like he's trying to avoid making eye contact. "I would never—"

Vegeta takes a step forward, and Bergot's jaw clicks shut at the movement. "I suggest you answer Lord Kakarot's question, General Bergot," he says, his voice deadly soft and full of steel. "I'm curious, too."

"Well, I don't—" Bergot says, then coughs conspicuously into his fist. "Of course, sire, you must understand, things sometimes sound so much different out of context— I'm sure Generals Dilla and Cauri would agree—"

Cauri and Dilla, in fact, look like they're edging their way back from Bergot as subtly but effectively as possible, both smart enough to try and get out of the way of the mess the man has landed himself in, at least.

"—we were only discussing the various contributions of the members of the royal household." Bergot looks quite pleased with himself for a moment, clearly thinking he's found his way out of the situation. Vegeta certainly isn't satisfied with that answer, and he scowls and opens his mouth to snap back at the general almost immediately, but, at the last possible moment, he pauses, glancing at Kakarot. It will be interesting to see how the idiot handles this; Vegeta's never seen him in a situation like this before, and it seems like... useful knowledge to have, at the very least. He closes his mouth, instead turning to get a better look at Kakarot's expression.

Kakarot tilts his head, as though politely confused, though his voice hasn't lost an ounce of sternness. "That doesn't explain what I heard you say, though."

"Sire?" A flush has started to creep up from General Bergot's neckline.

"I heard you saying something about someone not being able to hold their own in a fight," Kakarot says. "That doesn't sound like anything about anyone's _contributions_. That sounds like you were talking badly about someone who's not even here to defend themself." He pauses for just a moment, clearly remembering the way he'd wiped the floor with Bergot — and half the men in this room — at the tournament. "I mean, I _assume_ you weren't talking about Vegeta or me."

"Of _course_ not, sire!" Bergot hurries to say, bowing even deeper. "I—"

"But if you're not talking about us, then you must have been talking about Prince Tarble," Kakarot says, frowning. "And that can't be right either."

Bergot is, finally, silent, having seemingly realized that every word out of his mouth is just digging himself deeper and deeper into the hole he's made. 

"That can't be right," Kakarot repeats firmly. "I mean, without Tarble's help, I definitely wouldn't be standing here talking to you. He's probably the smartest person I've ever met, and he does so much for all of us. I can never thank him enough."

"Of course, sire," Bergot says quickly, but Kakarot just glares at him, not done with him yet.

"So you can't have been talking about him, right?" he says. "You or anyone else, for that matter. Because if people are talking about Prince Tarble, then I wanna know who. I'd like to hear what they have to say, because there has to be some misunderstanding. Maybe we can figure it out and set it right."

"Oh, no, Lord Kakarot, I'm sure that's not necessary—" Bergot says, his face the color of a fresh bruise and his voice positively winded.

"No one would dare speak ill of the princes, sire, either of them—" General Dilla adds at last, showing some pride, at least, in shielding Bergot, seeing as she'd been part of the conversation as well. 

The group as a whole descends into chaos for a moment, twelve generals all talking over one other to either assure Kakarot that no wrongdoing was done, swear to him that they will combat any wrongdoing if it _does_ occur, or just generally reaffirm their respect and fealty towards Tarble, Vegeta, the king, Kakarot himself, and the crown generally. Vegeta doesn't bother trying to parse through the noise enough to pay real attention to any of it; it's all drivel, completely meaningless and, in many cases, completely untrue. Besides, he's busy enough at the moment staring contemplatively at Kakarot, his eyes narrowed as he considers what it is, exactly, that he's just seen.

It's far from the first time that Tarble's value has been called into question; not everyone appreciates his skill as a strategist and scholar, given that those abilities aren't paired with skills on the battlefield or physical strength. Vegeta tends to ignore such idiocy unless he's forced to do otherwise. None of the idiots making useless comments are actually in a position to act on their snide thoughts, so it doesn't matter, other than from the perspective that it shows disrespect to the royal family as a whole. Even that he's willing to let pass most of the time, under the assumption that his father and brother are more than capable of standing up for their own pride and honor the way he stands up for his.

All the same, he can't pretend he isn't affected by the little display Kakarot's just put on. It's taking him a moment to parse through his own conflicting thoughts and feelings, which would be upsetting enough even if he weren't already aghast at himself for having thoughts and feelings on the matter _at all_. 

On the one hand, there's the fact that he's surprised and mildly impressed by the way Kakarot had handled the whole thing — direct and firm and not at all hysterical, as he might have expected. Hell, Vegeta's more than a little surprised that Kakarot had handled the situation at all, or that he'd even noticed that there was a situation to handle, that he'd picked up on a veiled comment from across a room of people having several distinct conversations and realized who that attack was targeted at. It's, frankly, a better grasp of subtlety than Vegeta has previously given him credit for.

And then there's the fact that Kakarot had done all of that posturing and verbal sparring in defense of Tarble, though it isn't really the fact that it's _Tarble_ , so much as that Tarble is Vegeta's brother, and Vegeta is the source of Kakarot's connection to Tarble, and in some, strange way, that connection is really what Kakarot was defending. It makes it all feel more personal than it otherwise might, given that Vegeta and Tarble aren't really in the habit of fighting one another's battles. It makes it feel almost like Kakarot was really speaking in defense of the royal family, of House Vegeta — a connection which they share.

And, of course, there's the fact that Kakarot had looked undeniably, disgustingly attractive throughout the whole thing. Shocking to discover, really, that when he's being serious for half a minute, and Vegeta can avoid thinking about how much of an idiot he really is, that pretty face of his manages to have quite an appeal.

"Well, it's been a fair amount more than five minutes," Vegeta barks suddenly, cutting off the conversation still bubbling around a Kakarot who looks distinctly unsatisfied. "I would like to be done with this meeting before dark."

Everyone files back to their seats, including Kakarot, who all but collapses back into his chair. He looks somewhat mollified, at least, and as the meeting resumes, Vegeta almost laughs to note that he no longer seems at risk of falling asleep at all. His hands are clenched tightly on the arms of his chair, and his expression remains stormy even as General Okora stands to give her report and the excitement from earlier wanes back into the unique, incredible dullness of a council meeting.

And for the entire remainder of the meeting, Vegeta, to his horror, finds that he can't tear his eyes from his bondmate, unable to do anything but watch him through narrowed eyes, trying and failing to understand his own reaction to what's just occurred. 

He realizes after several minutes of poorly-disguised staring that this makes his indecision with regards to Onio even worse, of course, which is _exactly_ what he needed. What does it mean that he's seen Kakarot in this new, flattering light? He can't deny that it complicates things, to look at him as he's doing now and feel... Well. To feel anything other than irritation and an immediate desire to leave the room. In all his life, Vegeta has never had less of an understanding of what's going on inside his own head.

But on the other hand... Why the hell wouldn't he accept Onio's offer? There are other Saiyans, even other strong and beautiful ones who could produce good heirs, he's sure. So what if none of them had come forward in the tournament, and he's been, frankly, nearly as opposed to the idea of taking _anyone_ as consort as he has been with the idea of taking Kakarot? There has to be a better option. After all, he _hates_ Kakarot, doesn't he?

...Doesn't he?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

Night falls early and heavily this time of year, in the heavy grip of the rainy season, and while the palace is never truly quiet, there does seem to be a dampening effect on dark, cloudy nights like this one, especially when rain sheets down so heavily just outside the walls, drumming against the stone and keeping everyone with any sense safely inside.

Vegeta is well aware that those who know him best would say he's never had any sense in his life, and he certainly doesn't intend to start now. These dark, rainy nights make for excellent wandering weather, and he finds himself drawn at times like this to the _ume'ti_ gardens, where he's usually the only person around; they make for an excellent place to think, and, if he allows himself a moment of melodrama — and he typically allows himself many — then he sometimes thinks about the jagged, spiked shapes of the lightning-glass which make up the main part of the gardens' attraction, the way they remind him of the feelings knotted up in his own chest, threatening to prick a vein or cut him open at any moment.

Now more than ever, he feels powerless to do anything on this rainy night except wander the gardens in a long, lazy figure eight shape, his feet treading the familiar paths without any input from his mind.

Kakarot's intervention had cleared up the rumbling about Tarble well enough, but Vegeta still isn't quite satisfied. His brother is being left alone now — and has warmed yet _farther_ to Kakarot as a result of the whole thing, once news of Kakarot's confrontation with Bergot eventually got back to him — but that doesn't really address Vegeta's concerns about the situation at all. Tarble himself, after all, was only part of the issue; there's also the underlying problem which predicated the entire thing, which is that Kakarot is here, in the palace, as Vegeta's consort. And thinking about that means he can't help but think about the implications of it, and the assumption he's sure everyone around them is making, the assumption that he and Kakarot are...

Well, of course everyone would assume that they're well on their way to popping out cubs, he thinks scathingly, scowling at a blue-black crystal that had once been a patch of thick, heavy sand. That's the whole point of this endeavor, isn't it? It's just... well, the thought of consummating this whole ridiculous affair is bad enough. Kakarot is — well, he's not exactly bad to look at; one might even go so far as to call him attractive, at least when his mouth is closed. But that's just it: his mouth never _is_ closed, and besides that, it's nearly impossible at this point for Vegeta to forget about what he _represents_ (the tournament, the bondmating, the shame of being beaten by and now tied to a third-class, this pressure to produce heirs) for long. Even the prettiest face in the world couldn't manage that.

And even worse, there's the idea of what comes _after_ the actual act. Vegeta has been doing his best to put thoughts of cubs out of his mind for the time being — not out of avoidance, of course, just... he has better things to be spending his time worrying about at the moment — but that's far easier said than done even without the constant lingering thought, compounded by whispers and nudges from those around him, that the metaphorical clock has been ticking since Kakarot's coronation, if not even earlier.

He turns down a winding side pathway, to a part of the gardens which is especially secluded, and instantly freezes, his breath coming short and shallow and his heartbeat picking up despite himself. _Fucking of course,_ he thinks, but he finds he can't even really muster the energy to be upset; all of his emotional capacity is going toward something else instead.

Kakarot stands at the end of the path, his head tipped up, rain lancing down his face and dripping from his hair. He doesn't turn or acknowledge Vegeta at all, but somehow, Vegeta is absolutely positive that Kakarot knows he's here, that his presence is — intentional, somehow. A refusal to let Vegeta continue the avoidance routine he's gotten so adept at. An attempt to force his hand.

It's midnight, and, though the storm has almost entirely covered the moon, Vegeta doesn't need to see it to know that it's nearly full. He can _feel_ it, constantly, under his skin and in the pit of his stomach; there's no risk of turning oozaru on a night like this, not with the cloud cover, not with the rain, but, of course, turning oozaru isn't the only thing the moon can do to a Saiyan in his prime.

It's the first full moon since the coronation. He should have known, he thinks almost blankly, should have expected this. Then again, maybe he _did_ know, whether or not he was willing to admit it to himself; maybe that's why he's out here, walking through the gardens in the dark —

Kakarot turns suddenly, and Vegeta's thoughts are thoroughly derailed, not that they'd been especially composed in the first place. They're still quite a ways apart, but Kakarot is staring at him with a quiet intensity that’s so very different from his normal open expression, or even the focused look he has while fighting. There is something in his eyes and the set of his lips that makes Vegeta’s heart traitorously skip a beat, and without even thinking about it, without even realizing what it is he's doing, he takes one step forward, and then another, and another, until Kakarot slowly starts to approach, too, and they meet somewhere in the middle, rain falling around them in great thundering sheets.

They both freeze entirely for a moment; Vegeta hardly feels as though he's breathing, and Kakarot's utter stillness implies that he's much the same. Neither of them says anything, and, but for the rain, the night is completely silent around them. The palace is all around them, surrounding this garden, and the palace, of course, is full of people, but at the moment it seems that they're the only two living things in the world, completely and utterly alone.

Their eyes remain locked on one another, never wavering, and Vegeta feels heat start to prick under his skin.

Kakarot shifts forward again, moving in tiny half-steps, slow and measured. He doesn't stop until they're nearly chest-to-chest, closer than they've been since the bondmating duel, when Kakarot had pinned Vegeta to the arena floor and held him there. These circumstances couldn't be more different, of course, but the reminder of what _that_ had felt like somehow only seems to heighten _this_. Slowly, so slowly, Kakarot lifts one arm, his hand sliding up the column of Vegeta's throat until it cups his jaw.

For one long, trembling moment, they stay just like that, neither of them willing to do so much as blink. And in that moment, Vegeta feels that prickling heat under his skin spark and catch, and he knows, instantly and completely, that his rut is coming, and that there's nothing he can do to stop it.

And, worse: he realizes that he's no longer even sure that he wants to. Why avoid it, why put off the inevitable, when, he thinks as he lets his gaze slowly trail down from Kakarot's eyes to his mouth to the hollow at the base of his throat, it suddenly seems like giving in will be so much more enjoyable than holding out?

—

That they don't encounter anyone on their way back to their rooms is one part coincidence and one part miracle, though Vegeta isn't in much of a mindset to take notice or interrogate it at the moment. Rut is curling through his blood, heavy and silky and vivid, and with every step they take toward the familiar dark quiet of their rooms — most importantly, toward their _bed_ , though a wall or a table or a clear patch of ground are all starting to sound equally appealing at the moment — he feels his blood quicken, his breath becoming shorter and harsher. The rainwater still dripping off his skin does nothing to bank the flame; if anything, he feels as though he must be steaming, fogging up the hallways they dart through.

The effect on Kakarot, too, is obvious. He grips Vegeta's arm as soon as they step inside, out of the rain, and he doesn't loosen his grip for the entire duration of their journey, which Vegeta very magnanimously decides to permit. Kakarot can hardly take a step without turning back to look at Vegeta following behind him, his eyes dark and molten, pupils dilated. He says nothing, more silent now than at any point since Vegeta has known him, but then, he doesn't need too; they're both more than aware, at this point, of exactly what is happening here, exactly what they are walking towards.

The door to their quarters shuts behind them with a quiet _snick_ that might as well be the sound of the entire palace falling down around their ears. Kakarot's chest is heaving with breath, and while they made their way here quite quickly, their pace wasn't _that_ extreme, not by half.

Vegeta walks to the center of the sitting room and turns, pinning Kakarot in place with his stare. Kakarot, a low growl rumbling in his throat, leans back against the door in a way that makes his neck arch invitingly, his muscles flexing as his head hits the wood behind him with a gentle _thunk_. Vegeta can just make out the glitter of his eyes under the fringe of lashes, watching him even as Kakarot reclines, and he makes no attempt whatsoever to restrain the growl that rips through his own throat — appreciative, demanding, _hungry_.

They're on one another in a flash, lips sliding, teeth biting; Vegeta gets a good handful of Kakarot's hair in his fist and hangs on with vicious strength, though Kakarot certainly doesn't seem to mind the slightly rough handling. He growls against Vegeta's throat, his jaw, and then his mouth, and _his_ hands have taken up residence on Vegeta's hips, gripping with a bruising strength. They trade breaths, air merging in hot puffs and gasps in the space between their mouths as they come together, but neither of them is really in the mood for kissing, much. The rut demands one thing, drives each of them to the urge to claim and be claimed — to fuck and be fucked.

The slide of lips and tongues is delicious in its own right, and under other circumstances, Vegeta would be inclined to stay here just like this until Kakarot is aching and gasping and desperate against him, but in this moment, with his blood pulsing so heavily in his ears that he can hardly hear anything else and heat burning wildly under his skin, he finds that there are more important things to be getting on with. Vegeta lets loose a growl that practically shakes the room, grabs Kakarot by the breastplate of his standard-issue armor, and _pulls_.

Kakarot doesn't seem particularly opposed to being dragged, though he refuses to let go his grip on Vegeta's hips even as Vegeta hauls him through the sitting room to the bedroom, and, from there, to the bed itself. It's only when they pass through into the bedroom that Kakarot seems to realize, regretfully, that his hands could be put to better use than just hanging onto Vegeta's hips with all of the formidable force he brings to bear; those hands start to wander, and then they're slipping up and over the small of Vegeta's back to work on the fastenings of his breastplate, then his pauldrons and cape.

They leave a trail of armor and clothing behind them, each of them doing his best to divest the other of as much covering as possible as quickly as possible. There's a moment of mutual consideration when Vegeta's legs finally bump up against the bed, clarity breaking through the haze of needs and wants as both of them pause to consider what to do next, and then, with a short huff of frustration at the delay, Vegeta turns and crawls into the direct middle of the mattress. If he arches his back a little to encourage the hungry growl Kakarot lets out, if he waves his tail temptingly and wraps it around the top of his thigh, well. He hides a ravenous smirk, pressing himself down onto his forearms with his hips in the air, and allows himself to revel in the wave of heat and furious desire that rolls through him at the motion.

He only barely manages to flip back over onto his back before Kakarot is on top of him, grabbing for Vegeta's hips again immediately; he seems to have some sort of fascination, though when Vegeta briefly glances down and notes the way Kakarot's hands seem to swallow his narrow hips, he has to admit that perhaps he understands it. 

Still, he snarls when he feels Kakarot's grip on him tighten once more to bruising ferocity, and, to his wild delight, Kakarot snarls right back, shoving forward into Vegeta's space until their foreheads are brushing, eyes boring into one another. Vegeta growls up at him, because that's both easier and more instinctual than trying to deal with whatever feeling it is that's suddenly knotted up in his chest at the burning in Kakarot's eyes, and then Kakarot presses against him full-body and kisses him — bites him, really, nipping at Vegeta's lips and mouth and tongue, which he's only too happy to reciprocate. Vegeta's breath is absolutely heaving in his chest; the air between them feels electric, alight with things he's currently too hungry not to notice, like the way his blood heats when Kakarot pulls back from mauling his mouth for just a moment to look at him _just so_ , eyes crackling with desire, or the strong, square cut of his jaw as he noses into the place where Vegeta's jaw meets his neck and _bites_ , the way he moves, the way he _sounds—_

Action is better than words, and certainly better than lying here on his back thinking about the way Kakarot's pretty face makes him _feel._ Vegeta bares his teeth in a wordless snarl and does the first thing that comes to mind, the thing his body is screaming at him to do: he arches up and throws one leg around Kakarot's hips, grinding up against him, feeling the way they rub up against one another, the obvious proof that Kakarot is just as desperate as he is, both of them achingly hard.

Kakarot's answering groan is _incredibly_ gratifying. Even through the haze of arousal, Vegeta takes a brief moment to thank the gods they'd had the foresight to undress before getting to the bed — if they'd waited until now, Vegeta might have been forced to shred perfectly good armor in order to get to Kakarot, and that would have been a waste. 

As it is, he runs his hands possessively over Kakarot's chest, his arms, all the while biting a mark into the hinge of his jaw. There's something undeniably heady and wonderful about having someone so strong and capable and fierce in battle writhing above him, growling and panting into Vegeta's shoulder and rolling his hips down again and again in rhythmic little twitches. Not that Vegeta isn't feeling just as desperate, but it's still delicious regardless to realize that Kakarot seems to be hanging on by a thread.

All at once he's had enough of this, enough waiting; he knows exactly what he wants now, and he has a feeling that Kakarot is on the exact same page. Vegeta groans, the sound full of feeling, and removes his teeth from Kakarot's throat long enough to growl, " _Now."_

That one word is, thankfully, more than enough to get his point across. Kakarot moves with such speed that Vegeta almost wonders if he'd just been waiting for a signal to proceed, which is gratifying in its own right. Less pleasant is the fact that Kakarot's shoulder is suddenly crammed in his face as he reaches around and rattles through the drawer in the low table beside the bed, and Vegeta is frankly a little unnerved by the fact that Kakarot has somehow unerringly found the little bottle of oil Vegeta keeps beside the bed; he may have to question how he'd known where to find it later, but there are more important things to do now, including, namely, growling his approval of Kakarot's initiative into the side of his neck and letting his legs fall open wide, canting his hips up in obvious invitation.

The sound of the bottle opening draws his heart into his throat, and the first touch of slick fingers skating over the curve of his ass has Vegeta gasping and groaning and gritting his teeth, desperate for more, _now_ , but just enough in control still to want to keep that desperation hidden as long as possible. Kakarot's fingers leave a greasy trail in their wake that Vegeta would be irritated about, even through the haze of desire, if not for the way that two of those fingers sink into him a moment later, which frankly drives all rational thought from his head.

Kakarot is taller and broader than Vegeta is, and his fingers, too, are larger than Vegeta's own — larger than he's felt in a while, in fact, and he rolls his hips down into them, luxuriating in the feeling even as it ignites and intensifies an even deeper need in the pit of his stomach. Kakarot is almost crooning above him, low, pleased sounds that make Vegeta preen, and combined with the delicious stretch of those thick fingers, burning hot against him and slick with oil, Vegeta feels his cock jumping against his stomach and his heart pulsing in his throat.

"Kakarot," he growls, and just as before, one word is all it takes. Both of them are far beyond the need or desire for foreplay, and it's with a fierce delight that Vegeta rolls over onto his stomach once more, drawing his knees under himself and allowing his tail to curl invitingly over his lower back. Kakarot growls, behind him, and that's all the warning he needs or gets before a hot, blunt pressure teases at his entrance for just a moment, and then he rocks his hips back and takes Kakarot into him, ripping groans from both of their throats.

He hadn't had the chance to get a good look at Kakarot's cock before — they've been so closely intertwined this entire time that it hadn't been possible, and besides that, Vegeta's hardly had the capacity to actually _think_ about things like that with need beating such a fierce tattoo in his chest, but it certainly _feels_ impressive. He groans appreciatively, then bucks his hips back again and again, taking more with each little thrust. Kakarot, behind him, is perfectly still, though Vegeta can hear him breathing so hard and so harshly that he practically rattles with it. 

It's only when a hand closes around the base of his tail that Vegeta freezes, with what feels like about half of Kakarot's cock inside of him, stretching him open wide in the most delicious sort of burn. Kakarot's tight grip on his tail, though, that's even more maddening than the press of his cock, and Vegeta shivers with it, allowing a snarl to roll through him without even thinking about it. " _Yes."_

Kakarot gives a short little growl of approval, and then, finally, says the first word he's said this entire time, the first thing Vegeta's heard out of his mouth that wasn't a groan or a growl or a hiss since they came out of the rain. "Vegeta."

" _Now_ , Kakarot," Vegeta snaps back at him, his forehead pressed flat into the mattress beneath him, his eyes squeezed shut. He manages to choke out just a little more taunting: "Come on, you bastard, are you waiting for a written invitation?" 

That, thank all the gods, is evidently enough for Kakarot. With a wild cry, he drives forward, sinking the rest of the way into Vegeta in one harsh motion, even as the hand on Vegeta's tail tightens and _pulls_.

Vegeta whites out instantly, dimly aware of the fact that he's shouting as he comes messily all over the bed beneath him and his own stomach. The combination of the burn and stretch of Kakarot fucking into him, the sensation of being so deliciously _full_ , and the harsh little tugs on his tail that coincide with every thrust, pulling him back onto Kakarot's cock, is altogether too much, and he revels in the sensation in the long moments it takes for him to wander back toward coherency. That, he knows, will be the first of many, and the knowledge that he's found a partner capable of satisfying him so thoroughly is a delight all its own, not that he would _ever_ say as much to Kakarot's face.

He comes back to himself to find that Kakarot has let go of his tail, and draped himself fully over Vegeta's back instead, arms clasped in front of Vegeta's throat as he slowly grinds their hips together, grunting quietly every few seconds when he finds an especially good angle. The slow grind is delicious, and Vegeta feels himself already hard again, recovered from that first orgasm and ready to chase the next. Kakarot doesn't seem to have come yet, however, which is frankly almost impressive — perhaps that's why he's making those tiny, slow motions, rather than fucking into Vegeta as fiercely as he had at first.

With an appreciative groan, Vegeta arches his back, pressing his hips back into Kakarot and grinning, though Kakarot can't see it, when he gets an answering thrust with far more power behind it. He has no idea what his own face is doing, for the most part — he's only glad neither of them can see it at the moment — but his whole body feels hot as flames, gleaming with sweat and aching with the need already beginning to pulse in him again.

And Kakarot, damn him, is still moving fairly slowly, little abortive thrusts as though he's trying to draw this whole thing out. Ridiculous. Vegeta's not letting him go until morning anyway — they've got _plenty_ of time, and they had better make the most of all of it, rather than dragging things out. Besides, he doesn't want some slow, timid little presses, and he's willing to bet that Kakarot doesn't really, either. The desperation in the air, the pure, unbridled need... That comes from _both_ of them. There's entirely too much for it to come from Vegeta alone.

He should have known, really, that he'd have to take things into his own hands at some point. And he doesn't wait even a moment longer before growling and flipping them over, rearing back and throwing Kakarot off-balance enough to send them both tipping to the side. He has to pull of of Kakarot's cock in order to wrangle them into the position he wants, but it's only a moment before he's sinking down onto it again, a fierce groan punched out of him as he slams his hips down with far more force than Kakarot had been showing.

Kakarot's answering noise almost sounds pained, and, sure enough, Vegeta only slams himself down onto Kakarot's cock about five times before he comes explosively, crying out and jerking so hard that he almost unseats Vegeta from his lap. He is — Vegeta feels absolutely no shame in thinking this while the man's cock is literally inside him — absolutely stunning in that moment, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his mouth dropping open in what might as well be a scream, his face flushed delightfully red. Even when he blinks his eyes open a few moments later, they're unfocused, and he seems dazed as he reaches out for Vegeta, grabbing at his waist with shaking hands.

"V-Vegeta," he manages after a moment, but that seems to be all he has in him, because after that he's back to being fully nonverbal, just groaning and even _whimpering_ as Vegeta keeps up a ruthless pace on his no doubt sensitive cock, not giving him a chance to go soft at all. 

But Kakarot begins to recover just as Vegeta starts to feel himself growing closer and closer to his second orgasm, and just like that, Kakarot flips them right back over, though Vegeta lands on his back this time rather than on his hands and knees. He growls, but it's really only an obligatory play at resistance; it's replaced almost immediately by a keening moan when Kakarot slams back into him, hiking Vegeta's knees up around his hips and fisting a hand tightly in his hair. It's one part power play — one part struggle for dominance — and one part not; they're both playing at that, growling at one another and baring their teeth and narrowing their eyes, but only because they enjoy the thrill of it, the challenge. Vegeta knows this is true, and he's never felt it with anyone more than he's feeling it with Kakarot right now, the perfect understanding that this game is part of what makes things _interesting_ — but at the exact same time, the knowledge that here, at least, they're equals, completely evenly matched. 

Partners, even.

That thought, somehow, above everything else, is what sends him tumbling over the edge into his second orgasm — though Kakarot's hands, one still clenched in his hair and one rapidly stroking Vegeta's cock, certainly don't hurt. This time, something cuts through the delicious haze of orgasm even as Vegeta shudders through it: Kakarot is calling out above him, and there's a pulse of warmth and wetness inside him as his bondmate, too, shivers and shakes and comes, both of them clinging onto one another as they both come floating slowly back down into reality.

Vegeta shakes as Kakarot slowly pulls out of him with a hiss, both of them sensitized after two orgasms — there will be more tonight, many more, but he's more than ready to take a break for the time being and get his breath back, and it seems that Kakarot feels the same. The demands of rut have been sated for a while, at least, and that fierce desire has quieted a little, leaving Vegeta able to fling himself back against the pillows and relax for a moment, his eyes half-lidded and staring at nothing in particular as Kakarot shuffles up the bed beside him, laying just far enough away that they aren't quite touching.

The downside, however, of his mind clearing in the aftermath of two immensely satisfying orgasms is that he's left to consider, for the first time, really, since he'd caught sight of Kakarot in the gardens earlier this evening, what exactly he's doing. He should have known he'd end up in a rut at some time sooner or later — it's the right time of year for it, he's young, he has a viable and undeniably attractive mate sharing his bed... Between all of that and being outside tonight on the full moon, it's not exactly a surprise. And nor is it all that shocking that Kakarot is going through rut as well, especially given that Vegeta is, which likely would have driven him into a sympathetic rut all on his own. So the idea of this happening _sometime_ , certainly, Vegeta had made his peace with, especially given that the only reason any of this is even _happening_ is to produce his heirs. 

It's the fact that it's happening _now_ that's causing him a few misgivings. He glances over at Kakarot — at his sweat-slicked chest, at the way he's laying there with his eyes shut and his face still flushed bright red from exertion — and acknowledges that he certainly doesn't regret it. He's enjoying himself quite a bit, thank you, and would certainly have never allowed Kakarot to get anywhere near him if he hadn't wanted it. All the same, however, he can't deny the burn of frustration low in his belly at the idea that he's given into a biological urge when he's still battling through the idea of whether or not to have Kakarot... gotten rid of, through whatever means it is General Onio thinks he can accomplish that task.

And then, of course, there'd been the way he'd felt moments ago, with Kakarot looming over him, pressing him down into the mattress, the way something in Vegeta's chest seizes violently even now, looking over at his bondmate and feeling a vicious pride at how thoroughly well-fucked he looks, at the tiny smile that's playing across his mouth...

Vegeta gives himself a firm mental shake and rolls over onto his side, so that he's facing Kakarot. There's absolutely no point in dwelling on thoughts like _that._ There's no reason, really, that this should change anything about the state of affairs between them other than that they can and, he hopes, will continue to have sex after this night is done — no point in not doing so, after all, now that they've crossed this particular line.

"Kakarot," he rumbles, and watches with a dark, possessive sort of pleasure the way that seems to shock Kakarot back to awareness. He jumps, his eyes flying open, before relaxing slightly and turning so that he's also on his side, mirroring Vegeta perfectly. 

"That was incredible," Kakarot says, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I didn't... I didn't know..."

"Glad to hear I can top whatever adolescent fumblings you got up to with the other third-classes," Vegeta replies, but his voice is markedly lacking in bite, even to his own ears. Kakarot even _smiles_ at that, his nose wrinkling up slightly as he rolls his eyes.

"Oh, just let me compliment you, _my Prince,_ " he says. His voice hitches on the last word, though, as Vegeta's hand lands on his hip, his thumb starting to trace small circles over the skin there.

"I appreciate the desire to give me the admiration I deserve," Vegeta says, his hand slowly skating backwards, toward Kakarot's tail, and, below that, the swell of his ass. "But there are better things we could be doing than talking, and better ways to show your devotion, _bondmate_."

"Mmm," Kakarot says — sighs, really — but he takes the hint well enough, and there's nothing more out of his mouth for a long while after that. As he starts to make his way downward, shifting under Vegeta's hands until they slide up his body to knot in his hair, and Kakarot starts licking the come off Vegeta's stomach, Vegeta allows himself to give into the way the fire under his skin is slowly flaring back to life. It's easy enough to close his eyes and sink into the pleasurable physicality and leave the rest of it for consideration later, if at all. _This_ is what matters now, and he's not going to let it be superseded by anything else — not even the thoughts swirling in the back of his own head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes worldbuilding means thinking about deities and working on a conlang, and sometimes it means deciding that Saiyans experience multiple orgasms and do a lot of sexual biting. *shrug*
> 
> Thanks to Buu for holding my hand through the final stages of editing this one! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/akaparalian) and [Tumblr](http://floralegia.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Thanks x infinity to cobrasnaps for beta help. <3


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